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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/17031-h.zip b/17031-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..8bb9f4d --- /dev/null +++ b/17031-h.zip diff --git a/17031-h/17031-h.htm b/17031-h/17031-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..204e81f --- /dev/null +++ b/17031-h/17031-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,11440 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" /> +<title>The Disentanglers</title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + P { margin-top: .75em; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + H1, H2 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + } + H3, H4 { + text-align: left; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + } + BODY{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + .blkquot {margin-left: 4em; margin-right: 4em;} /* block indent */ + + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .pagenum {position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + color: gray;} + + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> +</head> +<body> +<h2> +<a href="#startoftext">The Disentanglers, by Andrew Lang</a> +</h2> +<pre> +The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Disentanglers, by Andrew Lang + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: The Disentanglers + + +Author: Andrew Lang + + + +Release Date: November 8, 2005 [eBook #17031] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DISENTANGLERS*** +</pre> +<p><a name="startoftext"></a></p> +<p>Transcribed from the 1903 Longmans, Green, and Co. edition by David +Price, email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk</p> +<h1>THE DISENTANGLERS<br /> +by Andrew Lang</h1> +<p>with illustrations by H. J. Ford</p> +<p><i>Second Impression</i></p> +<p>Longmans, Green, and Co.<br /> +39 Paternoster Row, London<br /> +New York and Bombay<br /> +1903</p> +<p>TO HERBERT HILLS, <span class="smcap">Esq</span>.<br /> +These Studies<br /> +OF LIFE AND CHARACTER<br /> +<i>ARE DEDICATED</i></p> +<h2>PREFACE</h2> +<p>It has been suggested to the Author that the incident of the Berbalangs, +in The Adventure of the Fair American, is rather improbable. He +can only refer the sceptical to the perfectly genuine authorities cited +in his footnotes.</p> +<h2><!-- page 1--><span class="pagenum">p. 1</span>I. THE GREAT +IDEA</h2> +<p>The scene was a dusky shabby little room in Ryder Street. To +such caves many repair whose days are passed, and whose food is consumed, +in the clubs of the adjacent thoroughfare of cooperative palaces, Pall +Mall. The furniture was battered and dingy; the sofa on which +Logan sprawled had a certain historic interest: it was covered with +cloth of horsehair, now seldom found by the amateur. A bookcase +with glass doors held a crowd of books to which the amateur would at +once have flown. They were in ‘boards’ of faded blue, +and the paper labels bore alluring names: they were all First Editions +of the most desirable kind. The bottles in the liqueur case were +antique; a coat of arms, not undistinguished, was in relief on the silver +stoppers. But the liquors in the flasks were humble and conventional. +Merton, the tenant of the rooms, was in a Zingari cricketing coat; he +occupied the arm-chair, while Logan, in evening dress, maintained a +difficult equilibrium <!-- page 2--><span class="pagenum">p. 2</span>on +the slippery sofa. Both men were of an age between twenty-five +and twenty-nine, both were pleasant to the eye. Merton was, if +anything, under the middle height: fair, slim, and active. As +a freshman he had coxed his College Eight, later he rowed Bow in that +vessel. He had won the Hurdles, but been beaten by his Cambridge +opponent; he had taken a fair second in Greats, was believed to have +been ‘runner up’ for the Newdigate prize poem, and might +have won other laurels, but that he was found to do the female parts +very fairly in the dramatic performances of the University, a thing +irreconcilable with study. His father was a rural dean. +Merton’s most obvious vice was a thirst for general information. +‘I know it is awfully bad form to know anything,’ he had +been heard to say, ‘but everyone has his failings, and mine is +occasionally useful.’</p> +<p>Logan was tall, dark, athletic and indolent. He was, in a way, +the last of an historic Scottish family, and rather fond of discoursing +on the ancestral traditions. But any satisfaction that he derived +from them was, so far, all that his birth had won for him. His +little patrimony had taken to itself wings. Merton was in no better +case. Both, as they sat together, were gloomily discussing their +prospects.</p> +<p>In the penumbra of smoke, and the malignant light of an ill trimmed +lamp, the Great Idea was to be evolved. What consequences hung +on the Great Idea! The peace of families insured, at a trifling +premium. Innocence rescued. The defeat of the <!-- page 3--><span class="pagenum">p. 3</span>subtlest +criminal designers: undreamed of benefits to natural science! +But I anticipate. We return to the conversation in the Ryder Street +den.</p> +<p>‘It is a case of emigration or the workhouse,’ said Logan.</p> +<p>‘Emigration! What can you or I do in the Colonies? +They provide even their own ushers. My only available assets, +a little Greek and less Latin, are drugs in the Melbourne market,’ +answered Merton; ‘they breed their own dominies. Protection!’</p> +<p>‘In America they might pay for lessons in the English accent +. . . ’ said Logan.</p> +<p>‘But not,’ said Merton, ‘in the Scotch, which is +yours; oh distant cousin of a marquis! Consequently by rich American +lady pupils “you are not one to be desired.”’</p> +<p>‘Tommy, you are impertinent,’ said Logan. ‘Oh, +hang it, where is there an opening, a demand, for the broken, the stoney +broke? A man cannot live by casual paragraphs alone.’</p> +<p>‘And these generally reckoned “too high-toned for our +readers,”’ said Merton.</p> +<p>‘If I could get the secretaryship of a golf club!’ Logan +sighed.</p> +<p>‘If you could get the Chancellorship of the Exchequer! +I reckon that there are two million applicants for secretaryships of +golf clubs.’</p> +<p>‘Or a land agency,’ Logan murmured.</p> +<p>‘Oh, be practical!’ cried Merton. ‘Be inventive! +Be modern! Be up to date! Think of something <i>new</i>! +Think of a felt want, as the Covenanting divine calls it: a real public +need, <!-- page 4--><span class="pagenum">p. 4</span>hitherto but dimly +present, and quite a demand without a supply.’</p> +<p>‘But that means thousands in advertisements,’ said Logan, +‘even if we ran a hair-restorer. The ground bait is too +expensive. I say, I once knew a fellow who ground-baited for salmon +with potted shrimps.’</p> +<p>‘Make a paragraph on him then,’ said Merton.</p> +<p>‘But results proved that there was no felt want of potted shrimps—or +not of a fly to follow.’</p> +<p>‘Your collaboration in the search, the hunt for money, the +quest, consists merely in irrelevancies and objections,’ growled +Merton, lighting a cigarette.</p> +<p>‘Lucky devil, Peter Nevison. Meets an heiress on a Channel +boat, with 4,000<i>l</i>. a year; and there he is.’ Logan +basked in the reflected sunshine.</p> +<p>‘Cut by her people, though—and other people. I +could not have faced the row with her people,’ said Merton musingly.</p> +<p>‘I don’t wonder they moved heaven and earth, and her +uncle, the bishop, to stop it. Not eligible, Peter was not, however +you took him,’ Logan reflected. ‘Took too much of +this,’ he pointed to the heraldic flask.</p> +<p>‘Well, <i>she</i> took him. It is not much that parents, +still less guardians, can do now, when a girl’s mind is made up.’</p> +<p>‘The emancipation of woman is the opportunity of the indigent +male struggler. Women have their way,’ Logan reflected.</p> +<p>‘And the youth of the modern aged is the opportunity <!-- page 5--><span class="pagenum">p. 5</span>of +our sisters, the girls “on the make,”’ said Merton. +‘What a lot of old men of title are marrying young women as hard +up as we are!’</p> +<p>‘And then,’ said Logan, ‘the offspring of the deceased +marchionesses make a fuss. In fact marriage is always the signal +for a family row.’</p> +<p>‘It is the infernal family row that I never could face. +I had a chance—’</p> +<p>Merton seemed likely to drop into autobiography.</p> +<p>‘I know,’ said Logan admonishingly.</p> +<p>‘Well, hanged if I could take it, and she—she could not +stand it either, and both of us—’</p> +<p>‘Do not be elegiac,’ interrupted Logan. ‘I +know. Still, I am rather sorry for people’s people. +The unruly affections simply poison the lives of parents and guardians, +aye, and of the children too. The aged are now so hasty and imprudent. +What would not Tala have given to prevent his Grace from marrying Mrs. +Tankerville?’</p> +<p>Merton leapt to his feet and smote his brow.</p> +<p>‘Wait, don’t speak to me—a great thought flushes +all my brain. Hush! I have it,’ and he sat down again, +pouring seltzer water into a half empty glass.</p> +<p>‘Have what?’ asked Logan.</p> +<p>‘The Felt Want. But the accomplices?’</p> +<p>‘But the advertisements!’ suggested Logan.</p> +<p>‘A few pounds will cover <i>them</i>. I can sell my books,’ +Merton sighed.</p> +<p>‘A lot of advertising your first editions will pay for. +Why, even to launch a hair-restorer takes—’</p> +<p>‘Oh, but,’ Merton broke in, ‘<i>this</i> want is +so <!-- page 6--><span class="pagenum">p. 6</span>widely felt, acutely +felt too: hair is not in it. But where are the accomplices?’</p> +<p>‘If it is gentleman burglars I am not concerned. No Raffles +for me! If it is venal physicians to kill off rich relations, +the lives of the Logans are sacred to me.’</p> +<p>‘Bosh!’ said Merton, ‘I want “lady friends,” +as Tennyson says: nice girls, well born, well bred, trying to support +themselves.’</p> +<p>‘What do you want <i>them</i> for? To support them?’</p> +<p>‘I want them as accomplices,’ said Merton. ‘As +collaborators.’</p> +<p>‘Blackmail?’ asked Logan. ‘Has it come to +this? I draw the line at blackmail. Besides, they would +starve first, good girls would; or marry Lord Methusalem, or a beastly +South African <i>richard</i>.’</p> +<p>‘Robert Logan of Restalrig, that should be’—Merton +spoke impressively—‘you know me to be incapable of practices, +however lucrative, which involve taint of crime. I do not prey +upon the society which I propose to benefit. But where are the +girls?’</p> +<p>‘Where are they not?’ Logan asked. ‘Dawdling, +as jesters, from country house to country house. In the British +Museum, verifying references for literary gents, if they can get references +to verify. Asking leave to describe their friends’ parties +in <i>The Leidy’s News</i>. Trying for places as golfing +governesses, or bridge governesses, or gymnastic mistresses at girls’ +schools, or lady laundresses, or typewriters, or lady teachers of cookery, +or pegs to hang costumes on at dress-makers’. <!-- page 7--><span class="pagenum">p. 7</span>The +most beautiful girl I ever saw was doing that once; I met her when I +was shopping with my aunt who left her money to the Armenians.’</p> +<p>‘You kept up her acquaintance? The girl’s, I mean,’ +Merton asked.</p> +<p>‘We have occasionally met. In fact—’</p> +<p>‘Yes, I know, as you said lately,’ Merton remarked. +‘That’s one, anyhow, and there is Mary Willoughby, who got +a second in history when I was up. <i>She</i> would do. +Better business for her than the British Museum. I know three +or four.’</p> +<p>‘I know five or six. But what for?’ Logan insisted.</p> +<p>‘To help us in supplying the widely felt want, which is my +discovery,’ said Merton.</p> +<p>‘And that is?’</p> +<p>‘Disentanglers—of both sexes. A large and varied +staff, calculated to meet every requirement and cope with every circumstance.’ +Merton quoted an unwritten prospectus.</p> +<p>‘I don’t follow. What the deuce is your felt want?’</p> +<p>‘What we were talking about.’</p> +<p>‘Ground bait for salmon?’ Logan reverted to his idea.</p> +<p>‘No. Family rows about marriages. Nasty letters. +Refusals to recognise the choice of a son, a daughter, or a widowed +but youthful old parent, among the upper classes. Harsh words. +Refusals to allow meetings or correspondence. Broken hearts. +Improvident marriages. Preaching down a daughter’s heart, +or an aged parent’s heart, or a <!-- page 8--><span class="pagenum">p. 8</span>nephew’s, +or a niece’s, or a ward’s, or anybody’s heart. +Peace restored to the household. Intended marriage off, and nobody +a penny the worse, unless—’</p> +<p>‘Unless what?’ said Logan.</p> +<p>‘Practical difficulties,’ said Merton, ‘will occur +in every enterprise. But they won’t be to our disadvantage, +the reverse—if they don’t happen too often. And we +can guard against <i>that</i> by a scientific process.’</p> +<p>‘Now will you explain,’ Logan asked, ‘or shall +I pour this whisky and water down the back of your neck?’</p> +<p>He rose to his feet, menace in his eye.</p> +<p>‘Bear fighting barred! We are no longer boys. We +are men—broken men. Sit down, don’t play the bear,’ +said Merton.</p> +<p>‘Well, explain, or I fire!’</p> +<p>‘Don’t you see? The problem for the family, for +hundreds of families, is to get the undesirable marriage off without +the usual row. Very few people really like a row. Daughter +becomes anæmic; foreign cures are expensive and no good. +Son goes to the Devil or the Cape. Aged and opulent, but amorous, +parent leaves everything he can scrape together to disapproved of new +wife. Relations cut each other all round. Not many people +really enjoy that kind of thing. They want a pacific solution—marriage +off, no remonstrances.’</p> +<p>‘And how are you going to do it?’</p> +<p>‘Why,’ said Merton, ‘by a scientific and thoroughly +organised system of disengaging or disentangling. <!-- page 9--><span class="pagenum">p. 9</span>We +enlist a lot of girls and fellows like ourselves, beautiful, attractive, +young, or not so young, well connected, intellectual, athletic, and +of all sorts of types, but all <i>broke</i>, all without visible means +of subsistence. They are people welcome in country houses, but +travelling third class, and devilishly perplexed about how to tip the +servants, how to pay if they lose at bridge, and so forth. We +enlist them, we send them out on demand, carefully selecting our agents +to meet the circumstances in each case. They go down and disentangle +the amorous by—well, by entangling them. The lovers are +off with the old love, the love which causes all the worry, without +being on with the new love—our agent. The thing quietly +fizzles out.’</p> +<p>‘Quietly!’ Logan snorted. ‘I like “quietly.” +They would be on with the new love. Don’t you see, you born +gomeral, that the person, man or woman, who deserts the inconvenient +A.—I put an A. B. case—falls in love with your agent B., +and your B. is, by the nature of the thing, more ineligible than A.—too +poor. A babe could see that. You disappoint me, Merton.’</p> +<p>‘You state,’ said Merton, ‘one of the practical +difficulties which I foresaw. Not that it does not suit <i>us</i> +very well. Our comrade and friend, man or woman, gets a chance +of a good marriage, and, Logan, there is no better thing. But +parents and guardians would not stand much of that: of people marrying +our agents.’</p> +<p>‘Of course they wouldn’t. Your idea is crazy.’</p> +<p>‘Wait a moment,’ said Merton. ‘The resources +<!-- page 10--><span class="pagenum">p. 10</span>of science are not +yet exhausted. You have heard of the epoch-making discovery of +Jenner, and its beneficent results in checking the ravages of smallpox, +that scourge of the human race?’</p> +<p>‘Oh don’t talk like a printed book,’ Logan remonstrated. +‘Everybody has heard of vaccination.’</p> +<p>‘And you are aware that similar prophylactic measures have +been adopted, with more or less of success, in the case of other diseases?’</p> +<p>‘I am aware,’ said Logan, ‘that you are in danger +of personal suffering at my hands, as I already warned you.’</p> +<p>‘What is love but a disease?’ Merton asked dreamily. +‘A French <i>savant</i>, Monsieur Janet, says that nobody ever +falls in love except when he is a little bit off colour: I forget the +French equivalent.’</p> +<p>‘I am coming for you,’ Logan arose in wrath.</p> +<p>‘Sit down. Well, your objection (which it did not need +the eyes of an Argus to discover) is that the patients, the lovers young, +whose loves are disapproved of by the family, will fall in love with +our agents, insist on marrying <i>them</i>, and so the last state of +these afflicted parents—or children—will be worse than the +first. Is that your objection?’</p> +<p>‘Of course it is; and crushing at that,’ Logan replied.</p> +<p>‘Then science suggests prophylactic measures: something akin +to vaccination,’ Merton explained. ‘The agents must +be warranted “immune.” Nice new word!’</p> +<p>‘How?’</p> +<p>‘The object,’ Merton answered, ‘is to make it <!-- page 11--><span class="pagenum">p. 11</span>impossible, +or highly improbable, that our agents, after disentangling the affections +of the patients, curing them of one attack, will accept their addresses, +offered in a second fit of the fever. In brief, the agents must +not marry the patients, or not often.’</p> +<p>‘But how can you prevent them if they want to do it?’</p> +<p>‘By a process akin, in the emotional region of our strangely +blended nature, to inoculation.’</p> +<p>‘Hanged if I understand you. You keep on repeating yourself. +You dodder!’</p> +<p>‘Our agents must have got the disease already, the pretty fever; +and be safe against infection. There must be on the side of the +agent a prior attachment. Now, don’t interrupt, there always +<i>is</i> a prior attachment. You are in love, I am in love, he, +she, and they, all of the broken brigade, are in love; all the more +because they have not a chance. “Cursed be the social wants +that sin against the strength of youth.” So, you see, our +agents will be quite safe not to crown the flame of the patients, not +to accept them, if they do propose, or expect a proposal. “Every +security from infection guaranteed.” There is the felt want. +Here is the remedy; not warranted absolutely painless, but salutary, +and tending to the amelioration of the species. So we have only +to enlist the agents, and send a few advertisements to the papers. +My first editions must go. Farewell Shelley, Tennyson, Keats, +uncut Waverleys, Byron, <i>The Waltz</i>, early Kiplings (at a vast +reduction on account of the overflooded state of the market). +Farewell Kilmarnock edition of Burns, and Colonel <!-- page 12--><span class="pagenum">p. 12</span>Lovelace, +his <i>Lucasta</i>, and <i>Tamerlane</i> by Mr. Poe, and the rest. +The money must be raised.’ Merton looked resigned.</p> +<p>‘I have nothing to sell,’ said Logan, ‘but an entire +set of clubs by Philp. Guaranteed unique, and in exquisite condition.’</p> +<p>‘You must part with them,’ said Merton. ‘We +are like Palissy the potter, feeding his furnace with the drawing-room +furniture.’</p> +<p>‘But how about the recruiting?’ Logan asked. ‘It’s +like one of these novels where you begin by collecting desperados from +all quarters, and then the shooting commences.’</p> +<p>‘Well, we need not ransack the Colonies,’ Merton replied. +‘Patronise British industries. We know some fellows already +and some young women.’</p> +<p>‘I say,’ Logan interrupted, ‘what a dab at disentangling +Lumley would have been if he had not got that Professorship of Toxicology +at Edinburgh, and been able to marry Miss Wingan at last!’</p> +<p>‘Yes, and Miss Wingan would have been useful. What a +lively girl, ready for everything,’ Merton replied.</p> +<p>‘But these we can still get at,’ Logan asked: ‘how +are you to be sure that they are—vaccinated?’</p> +<p>‘The inquiry is delicate,’ Merton admitted, ‘but +the fact may be almost taken for granted. We must give a dinner +(a preliminary expense) to promising collaborators, and champagne is +a great promoter of success in delicate inquiries. <i>In vino +veritas</i>.’</p> +<p>‘I don’t know if there is money in it, but there is a +kind of larkiness,’ Logan admitted.</p> +<p><!-- page 13--><span class="pagenum">p. 13</span>‘Yes, I think +there will be larks.’</p> +<p>‘About the dinner? We are not to have Johnnies disguised +as hansom cabbies driving about, and picking up men and women that look +the right sort, in the streets, and compelling them to come in?’</p> +<p>‘Oh no, <i>that</i> expense we can cut. It would not +do with the women, obviously: heavens, what queer fishes that net would +catch! The flag of the Disentanglers shall never be stained by—anything. +You know some likely agents: I know some likely agents. They will +suggest others, as our field of usefulness widens. Of course there +is the oath of secrecy: we shall administer that after dinner to each +guest apart.’</p> +<p>‘Jolly difficult for those that are mixed up with the press +to keep an oath of secrecy!’ Logan spoke as a press man.</p> +<p>‘We shall only have to do with gentlemen and ladies. +The oath is not going to sanction itself with religious terrors. +Good form—we shall appeal to a “sense of form”—now +so widely diffused by University Extension Lectures on the Beautiful, +the Fitting, the—’</p> +<p>‘Oh shut up!’ cried Logan. ‘You always haver +after midnight. For, look here, here is an objection; this precious +plan of yours, parents and others could work it for themselves. +I dare say they do. When they see the affections of a son, or +a daughter, or a bereaved father beginning to stray towards A., they +probably invite B. to come and stay and act as a lightning conductor. +They don’t need us.’</p> +<p>‘Oh, don’t they? They seldom have an eligible <!-- page 14--><span class="pagenum">p. 14</span>and +satisfactory lightning conductor at hand, somebody to whom they can +trust their dear one. Or, if they have, the dear one has already +been bored with the intended lightning conductor (who is old, or plain, +or stupid, or familiar, at best), and they won’t look at him or +her. Now our Disentanglers are not going to be plain, or dull, +or old, or stale, or commonplace—we’ll take care of that. +My dear fellow, don’t you know how dismal the <i>parti</i> selected +for a man or girl invariably is? Now <i>we</i> provide a different +and superior article, a <i>fresh</i> article too, not a familiar bore +or a neighbour.’</p> +<p>‘Well, there is a good deal in that, as you say,’ Logan +admitted. ‘But decent people will think the whole speculation +shady. How are you to get round that? There is something +you have forgotten.’</p> +<p>‘What?’ Merton asked.</p> +<p>‘Why it stares you in the face. References. Unexceptionable +references; people will expect them all round.’</p> +<p>‘Please don’t say “unexceptionable”; say +“references beyond the reach of cavil.”’ Merton +was a purist. ‘It costs more in advertisements, but my phrase +at once enlists the sympathy of every liberal and elegant mind. +But as to references (and I am glad that you have some common sense, +Logan), there is, let me see, there is the Dowager.’</p> +<p>‘The divine Althæa—Marchioness of Bowton?’</p> +<p>‘The same,’ said Merton. ‘The oldest woman, +and the most recklessly up-to-date in London. She has seen <i>bien +d’autres</i>, and wants to see more.’</p> +<p>‘She will do; and my aunt,’ Logan said.</p> +<p><!-- page 15--><span class="pagenum">p. 15</span>‘Not, oh, +of course not, the one who left her money to the Armenians?’ Merton +asked.</p> +<p>‘No, another. And there’s old Lochmaben’s +young wife, my cousin, widely removed, by marriage. She is American, +you know, and perhaps you know her book, <i>Social Experiments</i>?’</p> +<p>‘Yes, it is not half bad,’ Merton conceded, ‘and +her heart will be in what I fear she will call “the new departure.” +And she is pretty, and highly respected in the parish.’</p> +<p>‘And there’s my aunt I spoke of, or great aunt, Miss +Nicky Maxwell. The best old thing: a beautiful monument of old +gentility, and she would give her left hand to help any one of the clan.’</p> +<p>‘She will do. And there’s Mrs. Brown-Smith, Lord +Yarrow’s daughter, who married the patent soap man. <i>Elle +est capable de tout</i>. A real good woman, but full of her fun.’</p> +<p>‘That will do for the lady patronesses. We must secure +them at once.’</p> +<p>‘But won’t the clients blab?’ Logan suggested.</p> +<p>‘They can’t,’ Merton said. ‘They would +be laughed at consumedly. It will be their interest to hold their +tongues.’</p> +<p>‘Well, let us hope that they will see it in that light.’ +Logan was not too sanguine.</p> +<p>Merton had a better opinion of his enterprise.</p> +<p>‘People, if they come to us at all for assistance in these +very delicate and intimate affairs, will have too much to lose by talking +about them. They may not come, we can only try, but if they come +they will be silent as the grave usually is.’</p> +<p><!-- page 16--><span class="pagenum">p. 16</span>‘Well, it +is late, and the whisky is low,’ said Logan in mournful tones. +‘May the morrow’s reflections justify the inspiration of—the +whisky. Good night!’</p> +<p>‘Good night,’ said Merton absently.</p> +<p>He sat down when Logan had gone, and wrote a few notes on large sheets +of paper. He was elaborating the scheme. ‘If collaboration +consists in making objections, as the French novelist said, Logan is +a rare collaborator,’ Merton muttered as he turned out the pallid +lamp and went to bed.</p> +<p>Next morning, before dressing, he revolved the scheme. It bore +the change of light and survived the inspiration of alcohol. Logan +looked in after breakfast. He had no new objections. They +proceeded to action.</p> +<h2><!-- page 17--><span class="pagenum">p. 17</span>II. FROM +THE HIGHWAYS AND HEDGES</h2> +<p>The first step towards Merton’s scheme was taken at once. +The lady patronesses were approached. The divine Althæa +instantly came in. She had enjoyed few things more since the Duchess +of Richmond’s ball on the eve of Waterloo. Miss Nicky Maxwell +at first professed a desire to open her coffers, ‘only anticipating,’ +she said, ‘an event’—which Logan declined in any sense +to anticipate. Lady Lochmaben said that they would have a lovely +time as experimental students of society. Mrs. Brown-Smith instantly +offered her own services as a Disentangler, her lord being then absent +in America studying the negro market for detergents.</p> +<p>‘I think,’ she said, ‘he expects Brown-Smith’s +brand to make an Ethiopian change his skin, and then means to exhibit +him as an advertisement.’</p> +<p>‘And settle the negro question by making them all white men,’ +said Logan, as he gracefully declined the generous but compromising +proposal of the lady. ‘Yet, after all,’ thought he, +‘is she not right? The prophylactic precautions would certainly +be increased, morally speaking, if the Disentanglers were married.’ +But while he pigeon-holed this idea for future reference, <!-- page 18--><span class="pagenum">p. 18</span>at +the moment he could not see his way to accepting Mrs. Brown-Smith’s +spirited idea. She reluctantly acquiesced in his view of the case, +but, like the other dames, promised to guarantee, if applied to, the +absolute respectability of the enterprise. The usual vows of secrecy +were made, and (what borders on the supernatural) they were kept.</p> +<p>Merton’s first editions went to Sotheby’s, ‘Property +of a gentleman who is changing his objects of collection.’ +A Russian archduke bought Logan’s unique set of golf clubs by +Philp. Funds accrued from other sources. Logan had a friend, +dearer friend had no man, one Trevor, a pleasant bachelor whose sister +kept house for him. His purse, or rather his cheque book, gaped +with desire to be at Logan’s service, but had gaped in vain. +Finding Logan grinning one day over the advertisement columns of a paper +at the club, his prophetic soul discerned a good thing, and he wormed +it out ‘in dern privacy.’ He slapped his manly thigh +and insisted on being in it—as a capitalist. The other stoutly +resisted, but was overcome.</p> +<p>‘You need an office, you need retaining fees, you need outfits +for the accomplices, and it is a legitimate investment. I’ll +take interest and risks,’ said Trevor.</p> +<p>So the money was found.</p> +<p>The inaugural dinner, for the engaging of accomplices, was given +in a private room of a restaurant in Pall Mall.</p> +<p>The dinner was gay, but a little pathetic. Neatness, rather +than the gloss of novelty (though other gloss <!-- page 19--><span class="pagenum">p. 19</span>there +was), characterised the garments of the men. The toilettes of +the women were modest; that amount of praise (and it is a good deal) +they deserved. A young lady, Miss Maskelyne, an amber-hued beauty, +who practically lived as a female jester at the houses of the great, +shone resplendent, indeed, but magnificence of apparel was demanded +by her profession.</p> +<p>‘I am <i>so</i> tired of it,’ she said to Merton. +‘Fancy being more and more anxious for country house invitations. +Fancy an artist’s feelings, when she knows she has not been a +success. And then when the woman of the house detests you! +She often does. And when they ask you to give your imitation of +So-and-so, and forget that his niece is in the room! Do you know +what they would have called people like me a hundred years ago? +Toad-eaters! There is one of us in an old novel I read a bit of +once. She goes about, an old maid, to houses. Once she arrived +in a snow storm and a hearse. Am I to come to that? I keep +learning new drawing-room tricks. And when you fall ill, as I +did at Eckford, and you can’t leave, and you think they are tired +to death of you! Oh, it is I who am tired, and time passes, and +one grows old. I am a hag!’</p> +<p>Merton said ‘what he ought to have said,’ and what, indeed, +was true. He was afraid she would tell him what she owed her dress-makers. +Therefore he steered the talk round to sport, then to the Highlands, +then to Knoydart, then to Alastair Macdonald of Craigiecorrichan, and +then Merton knew, by a tone in the voice, a drop of the eyelashes, that +Miss Maskelyne was—vaccinated. Prophylactic measures <!-- page 20--><span class="pagenum">p. 20</span>had +been taken: this agent ran no risk of infection. There was Alastair.</p> +<p>Merton turned to Miss Willoughby, on his left. She was tall, +dark, handsome, but a little faded, and not plump: few of the faces +round the table were plump and well liking. Miss Willoughby, in +fact, dwelt in one room, in Bloomsbury, and dined on cocoa and bread +and butter. These were for her the rewards of the Higher Education. +She lived by copying crabbed manuscripts.</p> +<p>‘Do you ever go up to Oxford now?’ said Merton.</p> +<p>‘Not often. Sometimes a St. Ursula girl gets a room in +the town for me. I have coached two or three of them at little +reading parties. It gets one out of town in autumn: Bloomsbury +in August is not very fresh. And at Oxford one can “tout,” +or “cadge,” for a little work. But there are so many +of us.’</p> +<p>‘What are you busy with just now?’</p> +<p>‘Vatican transcripts at the Record Office.’</p> +<p>‘Any exciting secrets?’</p> +<p>‘Oh no, only how much the priests here paid to Rome for their +promotions. Secrets then perhaps: not thrilling now.’</p> +<p>‘No schemes to poison people?’</p> +<p>‘Not yet: no plots for novels, and oh, such long-winded pontifical +Latin, and such awful crabbed hands.’</p> +<p>‘It does not seem to lead to much?’</p> +<p>‘To nothing, in no way. But one is glad to get anything.’</p> +<p>‘Jephson, of Lincoln, whom I used to know, is <!-- page 21--><span class="pagenum">p. 21</span>doing +a book on the Knights of St. John in their Relations to the Empire,’ +said Merton.</p> +<p>‘Is he?’ said Miss Willoughby, after a scarcely distinguishable +but embarrassed pause, and she turned from Merton to exhibit an interest +in the very original scheme of mural decoration behind her.</p> +<p>‘It is quite a new subject to most people,’ said Merton, +and he mentally ticked off Miss Willoughby as safe, for Jephson, whom +he had heard that she liked, was a very poor man, living on his fellowship +and coaching. He was sorry: he had never liked or trusted Jephson.</p> +<p>‘It is a subject sure to create a sensation, isn’t it?’ +asked Miss Willoughby, a little paler than before.</p> +<p>‘It might get a man a professorship,’ said Merton.</p> +<p>‘There are so many of us, of them, I mean,’ said Miss +Willoughby, and Merton gave a small sigh. ‘Not much larkiness +here,’ he thought, and asked a transient waiter for champagne.</p> +<p>Miss Willoughby drank a little of the wine: the colour came into +her face.</p> +<p>‘By Jove, she’s awfully handsome,’ thought Merton.</p> +<p>‘It was very kind of you to ask me to this festival,’ +said the girl. ‘Why have you asked us, me at least?’</p> +<p>‘Perhaps for many besides the obvious reason,’ said Merton. +‘You may be told later.’</p> +<p>‘Then there is a reason in addition to that which most people +don’t find obvious? Have you come into a fortune?’</p> +<p>‘No, but I am coming. My ship is on the sea and my boat +is on the shore.’</p> +<p><!-- page 22--><span class="pagenum">p. 22</span>‘I see faces +that I know. There is that tall handsome girl, Miss Markham, with +real gold hair, next Mr. Logan. We used to call her the Venus +of Milo, or Milo for short, at St. Ursula’s. She has mantles +and things tried on her at Madame Claudine’s, and stumpy purchasers +argue from the effect (neglecting the cause) that the things will suit +<i>them</i>. Her people were ruined by Australian gold mines. +And there is Miss Martin, who does stories for the penny story papers +at a shilling the thousand words. The fathers have backed horses, +and the children’s teeth are set on edge. Is it a Neo-Christian +dinner? We are all so poor. You have sought us in the highways +and hedges.’</p> +<p>‘Where the wild roses grow,’ said Merton.</p> +<p>‘I don’t know many of the men, though I see faces that +one used to see in the High. There is Mr. Yorker, the athletic +man. What is he doing now?’</p> +<p>‘He is sub-vice-secretary of a cricket club. His income +depends on his bat and his curl from leg. But he has a rich aunt.’</p> +<p>‘Cricket does not lead to much, any more than my ability to +read the worst handwritings of the darkest ages. Who is the man +that the beautiful lady opposite is making laugh so?’ asked Miss +Willoughby, without moving her lips.</p> +<p>Merton wrote ‘Bulstrode of Trinity’ on the back of the +menu.</p> +<p>‘What does <i>he</i> do?’</p> +<p>‘Nothing,’ said Merton in a low voice. ‘Been +alligator farming, or ostrich farming, or ranching, and come back shorn; +they all come back. He wants to be an ecclesiastical “chucker +out,” and cope with Mr. Kensitt and Co. New profession.’</p> +<p>‘He ought not to be here. He can ride and shoot.’</p> +<p>‘He is the only son of his mother and she is a widow.’</p> +<p>‘He ought to go out. My only brother is out. I +wish I were a man. I hate dawdlers.’ She looked at +him: her eyes were large and grey under black lashes, they were dark +and louring.</p> +<p>‘Have you, by any chance, a spark of the devil in you?’ +asked Merton, taking a social header.</p> +<p>‘I have been told so, and sometimes thought so,’ said +Miss Willoughby. ‘Perhaps this one will go out by fasting +if not by prayer. Yes, I <i>have</i> a spark of the Accuser of +the Brethren.’</p> +<p>‘<i>Tant mieux</i>,’ thought Merton.</p> +<p>All the people were talking and laughing now. Miss Maskelyne +told a story to the table. She did a trick with a wine glass, +forks, and a cork. Logan interviewed Miss Martin, who wrote tales +for the penny fiction people, on her methods. Had she a moral +aim, a purpose? Did she create her characters first, and let them +evolve their fortunes, or did she invent a plot, and make her characters +fit in?</p> +<p>Miss Martin said she began with a situation: ‘I wish I could +get one somewhere as secretary to a man of letters.’</p> +<p>‘They can’t afford secretaries,’ said Logan. +‘Besides they are family men, married men, and so—’</p> +<p>‘And so what?’</p> +<p>‘Go look in any glass, and say,’ said Logan, laughing. +‘But how do you begin with a situation?’</p> +<p><!-- page 24--><span class="pagenum">p. 24</span>‘Oh, anyhow. +A lot of men in a darkened room. Pitch dark.’</p> +<p>‘A séance?’</p> +<p>‘No, a conspiracy. They are in the dark that when arrested +they may swear they never saw each other.’</p> +<p>‘They could swear that anyhow.’</p> +<p>‘Conspirators have consciences. Then there comes a red +light shining between the door and the floor. Then the door breaks +down under a hammer, the light floods the room. There is a man +in it whom the others never saw enter.’</p> +<p>‘How did he get in?’</p> +<p>‘He was there before they came. Then the fighting begins. +At the end of it where is the man?’</p> +<p>‘Well, where is he? What was he up to?’</p> +<p>‘I don’t know yet,’ said Miss Martin, ‘it +just comes as I go on. It has just got to come. It is a +fourteen hours a day business. All writing. I crib things +from the French. Not whole stories. I take the opening situation; +say the two men in a boat on the river who hook up a sack. I don’t +read the rest of the Frenchman, I work on from the sack, and guess what +was in it.’</p> +<p>‘What was in the sack?’</p> +<p>‘<i>In the Sack</i>! A name for a story! Anything, +from the corpse of a freak (good idea, corpse of a freak with no arms +and legs, or with too many) to a model of a submarine ship, or political +papers. But I am tired of corpses. They pervade my works. +They give “a <i>bouquet</i>, a fragrance,” as Mr. Talbot +Twysden said about his cheap claret.’</p> +<p>‘You read the old Masters?’</p> +<p><!-- page 25--><span class="pagenum">p. 25</span>‘The obsolete +Thackeray? Yes, I know him pretty well.’</p> +<p>‘What are you publishing just now?’</p> +<p>‘This to an author? Don’t you know?’</p> +<p>‘I blush,’ said Logan.</p> +<p>‘Unseen,’ said Miss Martin, scrutinising him closely.</p> +<p>‘Well, you do not read the serials to which I contribute,’ +she went on. ‘I have two or three things running. +There is <i>The Judge’s Secret</i>.’</p> +<p>‘What was that?’</p> +<p>‘He did it himself.’</p> +<p>‘Did what?’</p> +<p>‘Killed the bishop. He is not a very plausible judge +in English: in French he would be all right, a <i>juge d’instruction</i>, +the man who cross-examines the prisoners in private, you know.’</p> +<p>‘Judges don’t do that in England,’ said Logan.</p> +<p>‘No, but this case is an exception. The judge was such +a very old friend, a college friend, of the murdered bishop. So +he takes advantage of his official position, and steals into the cell +of the accused. My public does not know any better, and, of course, +I have no reviewers. I never come out in a book.’</p> +<p>‘And why did the judge assassinate the prelate?’</p> +<p>‘The prelate knew too much about the judge, who sat in the +Court of Probate and Divorce.’</p> +<p>‘Satan reproving sin?’ asked Logan.</p> +<p>‘Yes, exactly; and the bishop being interested in the case—’</p> +<p>‘No scandal about Mrs. Proudie?’</p> +<p>‘No, not that exactly, still, you see the motive?’</p> +<p>‘I do,’ said Logan. ‘And the conclusion?’</p> +<p><!-- page 26--><span class="pagenum">p. 26</span>‘The bishop +was not really dead at all. It takes some time to explain. +The <i>corpus delicti</i>—you see I know my subject—was +somebody else. And the bishop was alive, and secretly watching +the judge, disguised as Mr. Sherlock Holmes. Oh, I know it is +too much in Dickens’s manner. But my public has not read +Dickens.’</p> +<p>‘You interest me keenly’ said Logan.</p> +<p>‘I am glad to hear it. And the penny public take freely. +Our circulation goes up. I asked for a rise of three pence on +the thousand words.’</p> +<p>‘Now this <i>is</i> what I call literary conversation,’ +said Logan. ‘It is like reading <i>The British Weekly Bookman</i>. +Did you get the threepence? if the inquiry is not indelicate.’</p> +<p>‘I got twopence. But, you see, there are so many of us.’</p> +<p>‘Tell me more. Are you serialising anything else?’</p> +<p>‘Serialising is the right word. I see you know a great +deal about literature. Yes, I am serialising a featured tale.’</p> +<p>‘A featured tale?’</p> +<p>‘You don’t know what that is? You do not know everything +yet! It is called <i>Myself</i>.’</p> +<p>‘Why <i>Myself</i>?’</p> +<p>‘Oh, because the narrator did it—the murder. A +stranger is found in a wood, hung to a tree. Nobody knows who +he is. But he and the narrator had met in Paraguay. He, +the murdered man, came home, visited the narrator, and fell in love +with the beautiful being to whom the narrator was engaged. So +the narrator lassoed him in a wood.’</p> +<p><!-- page 27--><span class="pagenum">p. 27</span>‘Why?’</p> +<p>‘Oh, the old stock reason. He knew too much.’</p> +<p>‘What did he know?’</p> +<p>‘Why, that the narrator was living on a treasure originally +robbed from a church in South America.’</p> +<p>‘But, if it <i>was</i> a treasure, who would care?’</p> +<p>‘The girl was a Catholic. And the murdered man knew more.’</p> +<p>‘How much more?’</p> +<p>‘This: to find out about the treasure, the narrator had taken +priest’s orders, and, of course, could not marry. And the +other man, being in love with the girl, threatened to tell, and so the +lasso came in handy. It is a Protestant story and instructive.’</p> +<p>‘Jolly instructive! But, Miss Martin, you are the Guy +Boothby of your sex!’</p> +<p>At this supreme tribute the girl blushed like dawn upon the hills.</p> +<p>‘My word, she is pretty!’ thought Logan; but what he +said was, ‘You know Mr. Tierney, your neighbour? Out of +a job as a composition master. Almost reduced to University Extension +Lectures on the didactic Drama.’</p> +<p>Tierney was talking eagerly to his neighbour, a fascinating lady +laundress, <i>la belle blanchisseuse</i>, about starch.</p> +<p>Further off a lady instructress in cookery, Miss Frere, was conversing +with a tutor of bridge.</p> +<p>‘Tierney,’ said Logan, in a pause, ‘may I present +you to Miss Martin?’ Then he turned to Miss Markham, formerly +known at St. Ursula’s as Milo. She had been a teacher of +golf, hockey, cricket, fencing, <!-- page 28--><span class="pagenum">p. 28</span>and +gymnastics, at a very large school for girls, in a very small town. +Here she became society to such an alarming extent (no party being complete +without her, while the colonels and majors never left her in peace), +that her connection with education was abruptly terminated. At +present raiment was draped on her magnificent shoulders at Madame Claudine’s. +Logan, as he had told Merton, ‘occasionally met her,’ and +Logan had the strongest reasons for personal conviction that she was +absolutely proof against infection, in the trying circumstances to which +a Disentangler is professionally exposed. Indeed she alone of +the women present knew from Logan the purpose of the gathering.</p> +<p>Cigarettes had replaced the desire of eating and drinking. +Merton had engaged a withdrawing room, where he meant to be closeted +with his guests, one by one, administer the oath, and prosecute delicate +inquiries on the important question of immunity from infection. +But, after a private word or two with Logan, he deemed these conspicuous +formalities needless. ‘We have material enough to begin +with,’ said Logan. ‘We knew beforehand that some of +the men were safe, and certain of the women.’</p> +<p>There was a balcony. The providence of nature had provided +a full moon, and a night of balm. The imaginative maintained that +the scent of hay was breathed, among other odours, over Pall Mall the +Blest. Merton kept straying with one guest or another into a corner +of the balcony. He hinted that there was a thing in prospect. +Would the guest hold himself, or herself, ready at need? Next +morning, <!-- page 29--><span class="pagenum">p. 29</span>if the promise +was given, the guest might awake to peace of conscience. The scheme +was beneficent, and, incidentally, cheerful.</p> +<p>To some he mentioned retainers; money down, to speak grossly. +Most accepted on the strength of Merton’s assurances that their +services must always be ready. There were difficulties with Miss +Willoughby and Miss Markham. The former lady (who needed it most) +flatly refused the arrangement. Merton pleaded in vain. +Miss Markham, the girl known to her contemporaries as Milo, could not +hazard her present engagement at Madame Claudine’s. If she +was needed by the scheme in the dead season she thought that she could +be ready for whatever it was.</p> +<p>Nobody was told exactly what the scheme was. It was only made +clear that nobody was to be employed without the full and exhaustive +knowledge of the employers, for whom Merton and Logan were merely agents. +If in doubt, the agents might apply for counsel to the lady patronesses, +whose very names tranquilised the most anxious inquirers. The +oath was commuted for a promise, on honour, of secrecy. And, indeed, +little if anything was told that could be revealed. The thing +was not political: spies on Russia or France were not being recruited. +That was made perfectly clear. Anybody might withdraw, if the +prospect, when beheld nearer, seemed undesirable. A mystified +but rather merry gathering walked away to remote lodgings, Miss Maskelyne +alone patronising a hansom.</p> +<p>On the day after the dinner Logan and Merton <!-- page 30--><span class="pagenum">p. 30</span>reviewed +the event and its promise, taking Trevor into their counsels. +They were not ill satisfied with the potential recruits.</p> +<p>‘There was one jolly little thing in white,’ said Trevor. +‘So pretty and flowering! “Cherries ripe themselves +do cry,” a line in an old song, that’s what her face reminded +me of. Who was she?’</p> +<p>‘She came with Miss Martin, the penny novelist,’ said +Logan. ‘She is stopping with her. A country parson’s +daughter, come up to town to try to live by typewriting.’</p> +<p>‘She will be of no use to us,’ said Merton. ‘If +ever a young woman looked fancy-free it is that girl. What did +you say her name is, Logan?’</p> +<p>‘I did not say, but, though you won’t believe it, her +name is Miss Blossom, Miss Florry Blossom. Her godfathers and +godmothers must bear the burden of her appropriate Christian name; the +other, the surname, is a coincidence—designed or not.’</p> +<p>‘Well, she is not suitable,’ said Merton sternly. +‘Misplaced affections she might distract, but then, after she +had distracted them, she might reciprocate them. As a conscientious +manager I cannot recommend her to clients.’</p> +<p>‘But,’ said Trevor, ‘she may be useful for all +that, as well as decidedly ornamental. Merton, you’ll want +a typewriter for your business correspondence, and Miss Blossom typewrites: +it is her profession.’</p> +<p>‘Well,’ said Merton, ‘I am not afraid. I +do not care too much for “that garden in her face,” for +your cherry-ripe sort of young person. If a typewriter is necessary +I can bear with her as well as another.’</p> +<p><!-- page 31--><span class="pagenum">p. 31</span>‘I admire +your courage and resignation,’ said Trevor, ‘so now let +us go and take rooms for the Society.’</p> +<p>They found rooms, lordly rooms, which Trevor furnished in a stately +manner, hanging a selection of his mezzotints on the walls—ladies +of old years, after Romney, Reynolds, Hoppner, and the rest. A +sober opulence and comfort characterised the chambers; a well-selected +set of books in a Sheraton bookcase was intended to beguile the tedium +of waiting clients. The typewriter (Miss Blossom accepted the +situation) occupied an inner chamber, opening out of that which was +to be sacred to consultations.</p> +<p>The firm traded under the title of Messrs. Gray and Graham. +Their advertisement—in all the newspapers—addressed itself +‘To Parents, Guardians, Children and others.’ It set +forth the sorrows and anxieties which beset families in the matter of +undesirable matrimonial engagements and entanglements. The advertisers +proposed, by a new method, to restore domestic peace and confidence. +‘No private inquiries will, in any case, be made into the past +of the parties concerned. The highest references will in every +instance be given and demanded. Intending clients must in the +first instance apply by letter to Messrs. Gray and Graham. No +charge will be made for a first interview, which can only be granted +after satisfactory references have been exchanged by letter.’</p> +<p>‘If <i>that</i> does not inspire confidence,’ said Merton, +‘I don’t know what will.’</p> +<p>‘Nothing short of it will do,’ said Logan.</p> +<p><!-- page 32--><span class="pagenum">p. 32</span>‘But the mezzotints +will carry weight,’ said Trevor, ‘and a few good cloisonnés +and enamelled snuff-boxes and bronzes will do no harm.’</p> +<p>So he sent in some weedings of his famous collection.</p> +<h2><!-- page 33--><span class="pagenum">p. 33</span>III. ADVENTURE +OF THE FIRST CLIENTS</h2> +<p>Merton was reading the newspaper in the office, expecting a client. +Miss Blossom was typewriting in the inner chamber; the door between +was open. The office boy knocked at Merton’s outer door, +and the sound of that boy’s strangled chuckling was distinctly +audible to his employer. There is something irritating in the +foolish merriment of a youthful menial. No conduct could be more +likely than that of the office boy to irritate the first client, arriving +on business of which it were hard to exaggerate the delicate and anxious +nature.</p> +<p>These reflections flitted through Merton’s mind as he exclaimed +‘Come in,’ with a tone of admonishing austerity.</p> +<p>The office boy entered. His face was scarlet, his eyes goggled +and ran water. Hastily and loudly exclaiming ‘Mr. and Miss +Apsley’ (which ended with a crow) he stuffed his red pocket handkerchief +into his mouth and escaped. At the sound of the names, Merton +had turned towards the inner door, open behind him, whence came a clear +and piercing trill of feminine laughter from Miss Blossom. Merton +angrily marched to the inner door, and shut <!-- page 34--><span class="pagenum">p. 34</span>his +typewriter in with a bang. His heart burned within him. +Nothing could be so insulting to clients; nothing so ruinous to a nascent +business. He wheeled round to greet his visitors with a face of +apology; his eyes on the average level of the human countenance divine. +There was no human countenance divine. There was no human countenance +at that altitude. His eyes encountered the opposite wall, and +a print of ‘Mrs. Pelham Feeding Chickens.’</p> +<p>In a moment his eyes adjusted themselves to a lower elevation. +In front of him were standing, hand in hand, a pair of small children, +a boy of nine in sailor costume, but with bare knees not usually affected +by naval officers, and a girl of seven with her finger in her mouth.</p> +<p>The boy bowed gravely. He was a pretty little fellow with a +pale oval face, arched eyebrows, promise of an aquiline nose, and two +large black eyes. ‘I think, sir,’ said the child, +‘I have the pleasure of redressing myself to Mr. Gray or Mr. Graham?’</p> +<p>‘Graham, at your service,’ said Merton, gravely; ‘may +I ask you and Miss Apsley to be seated?’</p> +<p>There was a large and imposing arm-chair in green leather; the client’s +chair. Mr. Apsley lifted his little sister into it, and sat down +beside her himself. She threw her arms round his neck, and laid +her flaxen curls on his shoulder. Her blue eyes looked shyly at +Merton out of her fleece of gold. The four shoes of the clients +dangled at some distance above the carpet.</p> +<p><!-- page 35--><span class="pagenum">p. 35</span>‘You are the +author of this article, I think, Mr. Graham?’ said Mr. Apsley, +showing his hand, which was warm, and holding out a little crumpled +ball of paper, not precisely fresh.</p> +<p>Merton solemnly unrolled it; it contained the advertisement of his +firm.</p> +<p>‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I wrote that.’</p> +<p>‘You got our letters, for you answered them,’ said Mr. +Apsley, with equal solemnity. ‘Why do you want Bats and +me?’</p> +<p>‘The lady’s name is Bats?’ said Merton, wondering +why he was supposed to ‘want’ either of the pair.</p> +<p>‘My name is Batsy. I like you: you are pretty,’ +said Miss Apsley.</p> +<p>Merton positively blushed: he was unaccustomed to compliments so +frank from a member of the sex at an early stage of a business interview. +He therefore kissed his fair client, who put up a pair of innocent damp +lips, and then allowed her attention to be engrossed by a coin on his +watch-chain.</p> +<p>‘I don’t quite remember your case, sir, or what you mean +by saying I wanted you, though I am delighted to see you,’ he +said to Mr. Apsley. ‘We have so many letters! With +your permission I shall consult the letter book.’</p> +<p>‘The article says “To Parents, Guardians, Children, and +others.” It was in print,’ remarked Mr. Apsley, with +a heavy stress on “children,” ‘and she said you wanted +<i>us</i>.’</p> +<p>The mystified Merton, wondering who ‘she’ was, turned +the pages of the letter book, mumbling, <!-- page 36--><span class="pagenum">p. 36</span>‘Abernethy, +Applecombe, Ap. Davis, Apsley. Here we are,’ he began to +read the letter aloud. It was typewritten, which, when he saw +his clients, not a little surprised him.</p> +<p>‘Gentlemen,’ the letter ran, ‘having seen your +advertisement in the <i>Daily Diatribe</i> of to-day, May 17, I desire +to express my wish to enter into communication with you on a matter +of pressing importance.—I am, in the name of my sister, Miss Josephine +Apsley, and myself,</p> +<p>‘Faithfully yours,<br /> +‘<span class="smcap">Thomas Lloyd Apsley</span>.’</p> +<p>‘That’s the letter,’ said Mr. Apsley, ‘and +you wrote to us.’</p> +<p>‘And what did I say?’ asked Merton.</p> +<p>‘Something about preferences, which we did not understand.’</p> +<p>‘References, perhaps,’ said Merton. ‘Mr. +Apsley, may I ask whether you wrote this letter yourself?’</p> +<p>‘No; None-so-pretty printed it on a kind of sewing machine. +<i>She</i> told us to come and see you, so we came. I called her +None-so-pretty, out of a fairy story. She does not mind. +Gran says she thinks she rather likes it.’</p> +<p>‘I shouldn’t wonder if she did,’ said Merton. +‘But what is her real name?’</p> +<p>‘She made me promise not to tell. She was staying at +the Home Farm when we were staying at Gran’s.’</p> +<p>‘Is Gran your grandmother?’</p> +<p><!-- page 37--><span class="pagenum">p. 37</span>‘Yes,’ +replied Mr. Apsley.</p> +<p>Hereon Bats remarked that she was ‘velly hungalee.’</p> +<p>‘To be sure,’ said Merton. ‘Luncheon shall +be brought at once.’ He rang the bell, and, going out, interpellated +the office boy.</p> +<p>‘Why did you laugh when my friends came to luncheon? +You must learn manners.’</p> +<p>‘Please, sir, the kid, the young gentleman I mean, said he +came on business,’ answered the boy, showing apoplectic symptoms.</p> +<p>‘So he did; luncheon is his business. Go and bring luncheon +for—five, and see that there are chicken, cutlets, tartlets, apricots, +and ginger-beer.’</p> +<p>The boy departed and Merton reflected. ‘A hoax, somebody’s +practical joke,’ he said to himself. ‘I wonder who +Miss None-so-pretty is.’ Then he returned, assured Batsy +that luncheon was even at the doors, and leaving her to look at <i>Punch</i>, +led Mr. Apsley aside. ‘Tommy,’ he said (having seen +his signature), ‘where do you live?’</p> +<p>The boy named a street on the frontiers of St. John’s Wood.</p> +<p>‘And who is your father?’</p> +<p>‘Major Apsley, D.S.O.’</p> +<p>‘And how did you come here?’</p> +<p>‘In a hansom. I told the man to wait.’</p> +<p>‘How did you get away?’</p> +<p>‘Father took us to Lord’s, with Miss Limmer, and there +was a crowd, and Bats and I slipped out; for None-so-pretty said we +ought to call on you.’</p> +<p>‘Who is Miss Limmer?’</p> +<p><!-- page 38--><span class="pagenum">p. 38</span>‘Our governess.’</p> +<p>‘Have you a mother?’</p> +<p>The child’s brown eyes filled with tears, and his cheeks flushed. +‘It was in India that she—’</p> +<p>‘Yes, be a man, Tommy. I am looking the other way,’ +which Merton did for some seconds. ‘Now, Tommy, is Miss +Limmer kind to you?’</p> +<p>The child’s face became strangely set and blank; his eyes looking +vacant. ‘Miss Limmer is very kind to us. She loves +us and we love her dearly. Ask Batsy,’ he said in a monotonous +voice, as if he were repeating a lesson. ‘Batsy, come here,’ +he said in the same voice. ‘Is Miss Limmer kind to us?’</p> +<p>Batsy threw up her eyes—it was like a stage effect, ‘We +love Miss Limmer dearly, and she loves us. She is very, very kind +to us, like our dear mamma.’ Her voice was monotonous too. +‘I never can say the last part,’ said Tommy. ‘Batsy +knows it; about dear mamma.’</p> +<p>‘Indeed!’ said Merton. ‘Tommy, <i>why</i> +did you come here?’</p> +<p>‘I don’t know. I told you that None-so-pretty told +us to. She did it after she saw <i>that</i> when we were bathing.’ +Tommy raised one of his little loose breeks that did not cover the knee.</p> +<p><i>That</i> was not pleasant to look on: it was on the inside of +the right thigh.</p> +<p>‘How did you get hurt <i>there</i>?’ asked Merton.</p> +<p>The boy’s monotonous chant began again: his eyes were fixed +and blank as before. ‘I fell off a tree, and my leg hit +a branch on the way down.’</p> +<p><!-- page 39--><span class="pagenum">p. 39</span>‘Curious accident,’ +said Merton; ‘and None-so-pretty saw the mark?’</p> +<p>‘Yes.’</p> +<p>‘And asked you how you got it?’</p> +<p>‘Yes, and she saw blue marks on Batsy, all over her arms.’</p> +<p>‘And you told None-so-pretty that you fell off a tree?’</p> +<p>‘Yes.’</p> +<p>‘And she told you to come here?’</p> +<p>‘Yes, she had read your printed article.’</p> +<p>‘Well, here is luncheon,’ said Merton, and bade the office +boy call Miss Blossom from the inner chamber to share the meal. +Batsy had as low a chair as possible, and was disposing her napkin to +do the duty of a pinafore.</p> +<p>Miss Blossom entered from within with downcast eyes.</p> +<p>‘None-so-pretty!’</p> +<p>‘None-so-pretty!’ shouted the children, while Tommy rushed +to throw his arms round her neck, to meet which she stooped down, concealing +a face of blushes. Batsy descended from her chair, waddled up, +climbed another chair, and attacked the girl from the rear. The +office boy was arranging luncheon. Merton called him to the writing-table, +scribbled a note, and said, ‘Take that to Dr. Maitland, with my +compliments.’</p> +<p>Maitland had been one of the guests at the inaugural dinner. +He was entirely devoid of patients, and was living on the anticipated +gains of a great work on Clinical Psychology.</p> +<p><!-- page 40--><span class="pagenum">p. 40</span>‘Tell Dr. +Maitland he will find me at luncheon if he comes instantly,’ said +Merton as the boy fled on his errand. ‘I see that I need +not introduce you to my young friends, Miss Blossom,’ said Merton. +‘May I beg you to help Miss Apsley to arrange her tucker?’</p> +<p>Miss Blossom, almost unbecomingly brilliant in her complexion, did +as she was asked. Batsy had cold chicken, new potatoes, green +peas, and two helpings of apricot tart. Tommy devoted himself +to cutlets. A very mild shandygaff was compounded for him in an +old Oriel pewter. Both children made love to Miss Blossom with +their eyes. It was not at all what Merton felt inclined to do; +the lady had entangled him in a labyrinth of puzzledom.</p> +<p>‘None-so-pretty,’ exclaimed Tommy, ‘I am glad you +told us to come here. Your friends are nice.’</p> +<p>Merton bowed to Tommy, ‘I am glad too,’ he said. +‘Miss Blossom knew that we were kindred souls, same kind of chaps, +I mean, you and me, you know, Tommy!’</p> +<p>Miss Blossom became more and more like the fabled peony, the crimson +variety. Luckily the office boy ushered in Dr. Maitland, who, +exchanging glances of surprise with Merton, over the children’s +heads, began to make himself agreeable. He had nearly as many +tricks as Miss Maskelyne. He was doing the short-sighted man eating +celery, and unable to find the salt because he is unable to find his +eyeglass.</p> +<p>Merton, seeing his clients absorbed in mirth, murmured <!-- page 41--><span class="pagenum">p. 41</span>something +vague about ‘business,’ and spirited Miss Blossom away to +the inner chamber.</p> +<p>‘Sit down, pray, Miss Blossom. There is no time to waste. +What do you know about these children? Why did you send them here?’</p> +<p>The girl, who was pale enough now, said, ‘I never thought they +would come.’</p> +<p>‘They are here, however. What do you know about them?’</p> +<p>‘I went to stay, lately, at the Home Farm on their grandmother’s +place. We became great friends. I found out that they were +motherless, and that they were being cruelly ill-treated by their governess.’</p> +<p>‘Miss Limmer?’</p> +<p>‘Yes. But they both said they loved her dearly. +They always said that when asked. I gathered from their grandmother, +old Mrs. Apsley, that their father would listen to nothing against the +governess. The old lady cried in a helpless way, and said he was +capable of marrying the woman, out of obstinacy, if anybody interfered. +I had your advertisement, and I thought you might disentangle him. +It was a kind of joke. I only told them that you were a kind gentleman. +I never dreamed of their really coming.’</p> +<p>‘Well, you must take them back again presently, there is the +address. You must see their father; you must wait till you see +him. And how are you to explain this escapade? I can’t +have the children taught to lie.’</p> +<p>‘They have been taught <i>that</i> lesson already.’</p> +<p>‘I don’t think they are aware of it,’ said Merton.</p> +<p><!-- page 42--><span class="pagenum">p. 42</span>Miss Blossom stared.</p> +<p>‘I can’t explain, but you must find a way of keeping +them out of a scrape.’</p> +<p>‘I think I can manage it,’ said Miss Blossom demurely.</p> +<p>‘I hope so. And manage, if you please, to see this Miss +Limmer and observe what kind of person she is,’ said Merton, with +his hand on the door handle, adding, ‘Please ask Dr. Maitland +to come here, and do you keep the children amused for a moment.’</p> +<p>Miss Blossom nodded and left the room; there was laughter in the +other chamber. Presently Maitland joined Merton.</p> +<p>‘Look here,’ said Merton, ‘we must be rapid. +These children are being cruelly ill-treated and deny it. Will +you get into talk with the boy, and ask him if he is fond of his governess, +say “Miss Limmer,” and notice what he says and how he says +it? Then we must pack them away.’</p> +<p>‘All right,’ said Maitland.</p> +<p>They returned to the children. Miss Blossom retreated to the +inner room. Bats simplified matters by falling asleep in the client’s +chair. Maitland began by talking about schools. Was Tommy +going to Eton?</p> +<p>Tommy did not know. He had a governess at home.</p> +<p>‘Not at a preparatory school yet? A big fellow like you?’</p> +<p>Tommy said that he would like to go to school, but they would not +send him.</p> +<p><!-- page 43--><span class="pagenum">p. 43</span>‘Why not?’</p> +<p>Tommy hesitated, blushed, and ended by saying that they didn’t +think it safe, as he walked in his sleep.</p> +<p>‘You will soon grow out of that,’ said Maitland, ‘but +it is not very safe at school. A boy I knew was found sound asleep +on the roof at school.’</p> +<p>‘He might have fallen off,’ said Tommy.</p> +<p>‘Yes. That’s why your people keep you at home. +But in a year or two you will be all right. Know any Latin yet?’</p> +<p>Tommy said that Miss Limmer taught him Latin.</p> +<p>‘Are you and she great friends?’</p> +<p>Tommy’s face and voice altered as before, while he mechanically +repeated the tale of the mutual affection which linked him with Miss +Limmer.</p> +<p>‘<i>That’s</i> all very jolly,’ said Maitland.</p> +<p>‘Now, Tommy,’ said Merton, ‘we must waken Batsy, +and Miss Blossom is going to take you both home. Hope we shall +often meet.’</p> +<p>He called Miss Blossom; Batsy kissed both of her new friends. +Merton conducted the party to the cab, and settled, in spite of Tommy’s +remonstrances, with the cabman, who made a good thing of it, and nodded +when told to drive away as soon as he had deposited his charges at their +door. Then Merton led Maitland upstairs and offered him a cigar.</p> +<p>‘What do you think of it?’ he asked.</p> +<p>‘Common post-hypnotic suggestion by the governess,’ said +Maitland.</p> +<p>‘I guessed as much, but can it really be worked like that? +You are not chaffing?’</p> +<p><!-- page 44--><span class="pagenum">p. 44</span>‘Simplest +thing to work in the world,’ said Maitland. ‘A lot +of nonsense, however, that the public believes in can’t be done. +The woman could not sit down in St. John’s Wood, and “will” +Tommy to come to her if he was in the next room. At least she +might “will” till she was black in the face, and he would +know nothing about it. But she can put him to sleep, and make +him say what he does not want to say, in answer to questions, afterwards, +when he is awake.’</p> +<p>‘You’re sure of it?’</p> +<p>‘It is as certain as anything in the world up to a certain +point.’</p> +<p>‘The girl said something that the boy did not say, more gushing, +about his dead mother.’</p> +<p>‘The hypnotised subject often draws a line somewhere.’</p> +<p>‘The woman must be a fiend,’ said Merton.</p> +<p>‘Some of them are, now and then,’ said the author of +<i>Clinical Psychology</i>.</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>Miss Blossom’s cab, the driver much encouraged by Tommy, who +conversed with him through the trap in the roof, dashed up to the door +of a house close to Lord’s. The horse was going fast, and +nearly cannoned into another cab-horse, also going fast, which was almost +thrown on its haunches by the driver. Inside the other hansom +was a tall man with a pale face under the tan, who was nervously gnawing +his moustache. Miss Blossom saw him, Tommy saw him, and cried +‘Father!’ Half-hidden behind a blind of the house +Miss Blossom beheld a <!-- page 45--><span class="pagenum">p. 45</span>woman’s +face, expectant. Clearly she was Miss Limmer. All the while +that they were driving Miss Blossom’s wits had been at work to +construct a story to account for the absence and return of the children. +Now, by a flash of invention, she called to her cabman, ‘Drive +on—fast!’ Major Apsley saw his lost children with +their arms round the neck of a wonderfully pretty girl; the pretty girl +waved her parasol to him with a smile, beckoning forwards; the children +waved their arms, calling out ‘A race! a race!’</p> +<p>What could a puzzled parent do but bid his cabman follow like the +wind? Miss Blossom’s cab flew past Lord’s, dived into +Regent’s Park, leading by two lengths; reached the Zoological +Gardens, and there its crew alighted, demurely waiting for the Major. +He leaped from his hansom, and taking off his hat, strode up to Miss +Blossom, as if he were leading a charge. The children captured +him by the legs. ‘What does this mean, Madam? What +are you doing with my children? Who are you?’</p> +<p>‘She’s None-so-pretty,’ said Tommy, by way of introduction.</p> +<p>Miss Blossom bowed with grace, and raising her head, shot two violet +rays into the eyes of the Major, which were of a bistre hue. But +they accepted the message, like a receiver in wireless telegraphy. +No man, let be a Major, could have resisted None-so-pretty at that moment. +‘Come into the gardens,’ she said, and led the way. +‘You would like a ride on the elephant, Tommy?’ she asked +Master Apsley. ‘And you, Batsy?’</p> +<p><!-- page 46--><span class="pagenum">p. 46</span>The children shouted +assent.</p> +<p>‘How in the world does she know them?’ thought the bewildered +officer.</p> +<p>The children mounted the elephant.</p> +<p>‘Now, Major Apsley,’ said Miss Blossom, ‘I have +found your children.’</p> +<p>‘I owe you thanks, Madam; I have been very anxious, but—’</p> +<p>‘It is more than your thanks I want. I want you to do +something for me, a very little thing,’ said Miss Blossom, with +the air of a supplicating angel, the violet eyes dewy with tears.</p> +<p>‘I am sure I shall be delighted to do anything you ask, but—’</p> +<p>‘Will you <i>promise</i>? It is a very little thing indeed!’ +and her hands were clasped in entreaty. ‘Please promise!’</p> +<p>‘Well, I promise.’</p> +<p>‘Then keep your word: it is a little thing! Take Tommy +home this instant, let nobody speak to him or touch him—and—make +him take a bath, and see him take it.’</p> +<p>‘Take a bath!’</p> +<p>‘Yes, at once, in your presence. Then ask him . . . any +questions you please, but pay extreme attention to his answers and his +face, and the sound of his voice. If that is not enough do the +same with Batsy. And after that I think you had better not let +the children out of your sight for a short time.’</p> +<p>‘These are very strange requests.’</p> +<p>‘And it was by a strange piece of luck that I met you driving +home to see if the lost children were <!-- page 47--><span class="pagenum">p. 47</span>found, +and secured your attention before it could be pre-engaged.’</p> +<p>‘But where did you find them and why?’</p> +<p>Miss Blossom interrupted him, ‘Here is the address of Dr. Maitland, +I have written it on my own card; he can answer some questions you may +want to ask. Later I will answer anything. And now in the +name of God,’ said the girl reverently, with sudden emotion, ‘you +will keep your promise to the letter?’</p> +<p>‘I will,’ said the Major, and Miss Blossom waved her +parasol to the children. ‘You must give the poor elephant +a rest, he is tired,’ she cried, and the tender-hearted Batsy +needed no more to make her descend from the great earth-shaking beast. +The children attacked her with kisses, and then walked off, looking +back, each holding one of the paternal hands, and treading, after the +manner of childhood, on the paternal toes.</p> +<p>Miss Blossom walked till she met an opportune omnibus.</p> +<p>About an hour later a four-wheeler bore a woman with blazing eyes, +and a pile of trunks gaping untidily, from the Major’s house in +St. John’s Wood Road.</p> +<p>The Honourable Company had won its first victory: Major Apsley, having +fulfilled Miss Blossom’s commands, had seen what she expected +him to see, and was disentangled from Miss Limmer.</p> +<p>The children still call their new stepmother None-so-pretty.</p> +<h2><!-- page 48--><span class="pagenum">p. 48</span>IV. ADVENTURE +OF THE RICH UNCLE</h2> +<p>‘His God is his belly, Mr. Graham,’ said the client, +‘and if the text strikes you as disagreeably unrefined, think +how it must pain me to speak thus of an uncle, if only by marriage.’</p> +<p>The client was a meagre matron of forty-five, or thereabouts. +Her dark scant hair was smooth, and divided down the middle. Acerbity +spoke in every line of her face, which was of a dusky yellow, where +it did not rather verge on the faint hues of a violet past its prime. +She wore thread gloves, and she carried a battered reticule of early +Victorian days, in which Merton suspected that tracts were lurking. +She had an anxious peevish mouth; in truth she was not the kind of client +in whom Merton’s heart delighted.</p> +<p>And yet he was sorry for her, especially as her rich uncle’s +cook was the goddess of the gentleman whose god had just been denounced +in scriptural terms by the client, a Mrs. Gisborne. She was sad, +as well she might be, for she was a struggler, with a large family, +and great expectations from the polytheistic uncle who adored his cook +and one of his nobler organs.</p> +<p><!-- page 49--><span class="pagenum">p. 49</span>‘What has +his history been, this gentleman’s—Mr. Fulton, I think you +called him?’</p> +<p>‘He was a drysalter in the City, sir,’ and across Merton’s +mind flitted a vision of a dark shop with Finnan haddocks, bacon, and +tongues in the window, and smelling terribly of cheese.</p> +<p>‘Oh, a drysalter?’ he said, not daring to display ignorance +by asking questions to corroborate his theory of the drysalting business.</p> +<p>‘A drysalter, sir, and isinglass importer.’</p> +<p>Merton was conscious of vagueness as to isinglass, and was distantly +reminded of a celebrated racehorse. However, it was clear that +Mr. Fulton was a retired tradesman of some kind. ‘He went +out of isinglass—before the cheap scientific substitute was invented +(it is made out of old quill pens)—with seventy-five thousand +pounds. And it <i>ought</i> to come to my children. He has +not another relation living but ourselves; he married my aunt. +But we never see him: he said that he could not stand our Sunday dinners +at Hampstead.’</p> +<p>A feeling not remote from sympathy with Mr. Fulton stole over Merton’s +mind as he pictured these festivals. ‘Is his god very—voluminous?’</p> +<p>Mrs. Gisborne stared.</p> +<p>‘Is he a very portly gentleman?’</p> +<p>‘No, Mr. Graham, he is next door to a skeleton, though you +would not expect it, considering.’</p> +<p>‘Considering his devotion to the pleasures of the table?’</p> +<p>‘Gluttony, shameful waste <i>I</i> call it. And he is +a stumbling block and a cause of offence to others. <!-- page 50--><span class="pagenum">p. 50</span>He +is a patron of the City and Suburban College of Cookery, and founded +two scholarships there, for scholars learning how to pamper the—’</p> +<p>‘The epicure,’ said Merton. He knew the City and +Suburban College of Cookery. One of his band, a Miss Frere, was +a Fellow and Tutor of that academy.</p> +<p>‘And about what age is your uncle?’ he asked.</p> +<p>‘About sixty, and not a white hair on his head.’</p> +<p>‘Then he may marry his cook?’</p> +<p>‘He will, sir.’</p> +<p>‘And is very likely to have a family.’</p> +<p>Mrs. Gisborne sniffed, and produced a pocket handkerchief from the +early Victorian reticule. She applied the handkerchief to her +eyes in silence. Merton observed her with pity. ‘We +need the money so; there are so many of us,’ said the lady.</p> +<p>‘Do you think that Mr. Fulton is—passionately in love, +with his domestic?’</p> +<p>‘He only loves his meals,’ said Mrs. Gisborne; ‘<i>he</i> +does not want to marry her, but she has a hold over him through—his—’</p> +<p>‘Passions, not of the heart,’ said Merton hastily. +He dreaded an anatomical reference.</p> +<p>‘He is afraid of losing her. He and his cronies give +each other dinners, jealous of each other they are; and he actually +pays the woman two hundred a year.’</p> +<p>‘And beer money?’ said Merton. He had somewhere +read or heard of beer money as an item in domestic finance.</p> +<p><!-- page 51--><span class="pagenum">p. 51</span>‘I don’t +know about that. The cruel thing is that she is a woman of strict +temperance principles. So am I. I am sure it is an awful +thing to say, Mr. Graham, but Satan has sometimes put it into my heart +to wish that the woman, like too, too many of her sort, was the victim +of alcoholic temptations. He has a fearful temper, and if once +she was not fit for duty at one of his dinners, this awful gnawing anxiety +would cease to ride my bosom. He would pack her off.’</p> +<p>‘Very natural. She is free from the besetting sin of +the artistic temperament?’</p> +<p>‘If you mean drink, she is; and that is one reason why he values +her. His last cook, and his last but one—’ Here +Mrs. Gisborne narrated at some length the tragic histories of these +artists.</p> +<p>‘Providential, I thought it, but now,’ she said despairingly.</p> +<p>‘She certainly seems a difficult woman to dislodge,’ +said Merton. ‘A dangerous entanglement. Any followers +allowed? Could anything be done through the softer emotions? +Would a guardsman, for instance—?’</p> +<p>‘She hates the men. Never one of them darkens her kitchen +fire. Offers she has had by the score, but they come by post, +and she laughs and burns them. Old Mr. Potter, one of his cronies, +tried to get her away <i>that</i> way, but he is over seventy, and old +at that, and she thought she had another chance to better herself. +And she’ll take it, Mr. Graham, if you can’t do something: +she’ll take it.’</p> +<p>‘Will you permit me to say that you seem to know <!-- page 52--><span class="pagenum">p. 52</span>a +good deal about her! Perhaps you have some sort of means of intelligence +in the enemy’s camp?’</p> +<p>‘The kitchen maid,’ said Mrs. Gisborne, purpling a little, +‘is the sister of our servant, and tells her things.’</p> +<p>‘I see,’ said Merton. ‘Now can you remember +any little weakness of this, I must frankly admit, admirable artist +and exemplary woman?’</p> +<p>‘You are not going to take her side, a scheming red-faced hussy, +Mr. Graham?’</p> +<p>‘I never betrayed a client, Madam, and if you mean that I am +likely to help this person into your uncle’s arms, you greatly +misconceive me, and the nature of my profession.’</p> +<p>‘I beg your pardon, sir, but I will say that your heart does +not seem to be in the case.’</p> +<p>‘It is not quite the kind of case with which we are accustomed +to deal,’ said Merton. ‘But you have not answered +my question. Are there any weak points in the defence? To +Venus she is cold, of Bacchus she is disdainful.’</p> +<p>‘I never heard of the gentlemen I am sure, sir, but as to her +weaknesses, she has the temper of a—’ Here Mrs. Gisborne +paused for a comparison. Her knowledge of natural history and +of mythology, the usual sources of parallels, failed to provide a satisfactory +resemblance to the cook’s temper.</p> +<p>‘The temper of a Megæra,’ said Merton, admitting +to himself that the word was not, though mythological, what he could +wish.</p> +<p>‘Of a Megæra as you know that creature, sir, and impetuous! +If everything is not handy, if that <!-- page 53--><span class="pagenum">p. 53</span>poor +girl is not like clockwork with the sauces, and herbs, and things, if +a saucepan boils over, or a ham falls into the fire, if the girl treads +on the tail of one of the cats—and the woman keeps a dozen—then +she flies at her with anything that comes handy.’</p> +<p>‘She is fond of cats?’ said Merton; ‘really this +lady has sympathetic points:’ and he patted the grey Russian puss, +Kutuzoff, which was a witness to these interviews.</p> +<p>‘She dotes on the nasty things: and you may well say “lady!” +Her Siamese cat, a wild beast he is, took the first prize at the Crystal +Palace Show. The papers said “Miss Blowser’s <i>Rangoon</i>, +bred by the exhibitor.” Miss Blowser! I don’t +know what the world is coming to. He stands on the doorsteps, +the cat, like a lynx, and as fierce as a lion. Why he got her +into the police-court: flew at a dog, and nearly tore his owner, a clergyman, +to pieces. There were articles about it in the papers.’</p> +<p>‘I seem to remember it,’ said Merton. ‘<i>Christianos +ad Leones</i>’. In fact he had written this humorous article +himself. ‘But is there nothing else?’ he asked. +‘Only a temper, so natural to genius disturbed or diverted in +the process of composition, and a passion for the <i>felidae</i>, such +as has often been remarked in the great. There was Charles Baudelaire, +Mahomet—’</p> +<p>‘I don’t know what you mean, sir, and,’ said Mrs. +Gisborne, rising, and snapping her reticule, ‘I think I was a +fool for answering your advertisement. I did not come here to +be laughed at, and I think common politeness—’</p> +<p><!-- page 54--><span class="pagenum">p. 54</span>‘I beg a thousand +pardons,’ said Merton. ‘I am most distressed at my +apparent discourtesy. My mind was preoccupied by the circumstances +of this very difficult case, and involuntarily glided into literary +anecdote on the subject of cats and their owners. They are my +passion—cats—and I regret that they inspire you with antipathy.’ +Here he picked up Kutuzoff and carried him into the inner room.</p> +<p>‘It is not that I object to any of Heaven’s creatures +kept in their place,’ said Mrs. Gisborne somewhat mollified, ‘but +you must make allowances, sir, for my anxiety. It sours a mother +of nine. Friday is one of his gorging dinner-parties, and who +knows what may happen if she pleases him? The kitchen maid says, +I mean I hear, that she wears an engaged ring already.’</p> +<p>‘That is very bad,’ said Merton, with sympathy. +‘The dinner is on Friday, you say?’ and he made a note of +the date.</p> +<p>‘Yes, 15 Albany Grove, on the Regent’s Canal.’</p> +<p>‘You can think of nothing else—no weakness to work on?’</p> +<p>‘No, sir, just her awful temper; I would save him from it, +for <i>he</i> has another as bad. And besides hopes from him have +kept me up so long, his only relation, and times are so hard, and schooling +and boots, and everything so dear, and we so many in family.’ +Tears came into the poor lady’s eyes.</p> +<p>‘I’ll give the case my very best attention,’ he +said, shaking hands with the client. To Merton’s horror +she tried, Heaven help her, to pass a circular packet, wrapped in paper, +into his hand. He evaded it. It <!-- page 55--><span class="pagenum">p. 55</span>was +a first interview, for which no charge was made. ‘What can +be done shall be done, though I confess that I do not see my way,’ +and he accompanied her downstairs to the street.</p> +<p>‘I behaved like a cad with my chaff,’ he said to himself, +‘but hang me if I see how to help her. And I rather admire +that cook.’</p> +<p>He went into the inner room, wakened the sleeping partner, Logan, +on the sofa, and unfolded the case with every detail. ‘What +can we do, <i>que faire</i>!’</p> +<p>‘There’s an exhibition of modern, mediæval, ancient, +and savage cookery at Earl’s Court, the Cookeries,’ said +Logan. ‘Couldn’t we seduce an artist like Miss Blowser +there, I mean <i>thither</i> of course, the night before the dinner, +and get her up into the Great Wheel and somehow stop the Wheel—and +make her too late for her duties?’</p> +<p>‘And how are you going to stop the Wheel?’</p> +<p>‘Speak to the Man at the Wheel. Bribe the beggar.’</p> +<p>‘Dangerous, and awfully expensive. Then think of all +the other people on the Wheel! Logan, <i>vous chassez de race</i>. +The old Restalrig blood is in your veins.’</p> +<p>‘My ancestors nearly nipped off with a king, and why can’t +I carry off a cook? Hustle her into a hansom—’</p> +<p>‘Oh, bah! these are not modern methods.’</p> +<p>‘<i>Il n’y a rien tel que d’enlever</i>,’ +said Logan.</p> +<p>‘I never shall stain the cause with police-courts,’ said +Merton. ‘It would be fatal.’</p> +<p>‘I’ve heard of a cook who fell on his sword when <!-- page 56--><span class="pagenum">p. 56</span>the +fish did not come up to time. Now a raid on the fish? She +might fall on her carving knife when they did not arrive, or leap into +the flames of the kitchen fire, like Œnone, don’t you know.’</p> +<p>‘Bosh. Vatel was far from the sea, and he had not a fish-monger’s +shop round the corner. Be modern.’</p> +<p>Logan rumpled his hair, ‘Can’t I get her to lunch at +a restaurant and ply her with the wines of Eastern France? No, +she is Temperance personified. Can’t we send her a forged +telegram to say that her mother is dying? Servants seem to have +such lots of mothers, always inconveniently, or conveniently, moribund.’</p> +<p>‘I won’t have forgery. Great heavens, how obsolete +you are! Besides, that would not put her employer in a rage.’</p> +<p>‘Could I go and consult ---?’ he mentioned a specialist. +‘He is a man of ideas.’</p> +<p>‘He is a man of the purest principles—and an uncommonly +hard hitter.’</p> +<p>‘It is his purity I want. My own mind is hereditarily +lawless. I want something not immoral, yet efficacious. +There was that parson, whom you say the woman’s cat nearly devoured. +Like Paul with beasts he fought the cat. Now, I wonder if that +injured man is not meditating some priestly revenge that would do our +turn and get rid of Miss Blowser?’</p> +<p>Merton shook his head impatiently. His own invention was busy, +but to no avail. Miss Blowser seemed impregnable. Kutuzoff +Hedzoff, the puss, <!-- page 57--><span class="pagenum">p. 57</span>stalked +up to Logan and leaped on his knees. Logan stroked him, Kutuzoff +purred and blinked, Logan sought inspiration in his topaz eyes. +At last he spoke: ‘Will you leave this affair to me, Merton? +I think I have found out a way.’</p> +<p>‘What way?’</p> +<p>‘That’s my secret. You are so beastly moral, you +might object. One thing I may tell you—it does not compromise +the Honourable Company of Disentanglers.’</p> +<p>‘You are not going to try any detective work; to find out if +she is a woman with a past, with a husband living? You are not +going to put a live adder among the eels? I daresay drysalters +eat eels. It is the reading of sensational novels that ruins our +youth.’</p> +<p>‘What a suspicious beggar you are. Certainly I am neither +a detective nor a murderer <i>à la Montépin</i>!</p> +<p>‘No practical jokes with the victuals?’</p> +<p>‘Of course not.’</p> +<p>‘No kidnapping Miss Blowser?’</p> +<p>‘Certainly no kidnapping—Miss Blowser.’</p> +<p>‘Now, honour bright, is your plan within the law? No +police-court publicity?’</p> +<p>‘No, the police will have no say or show in the matter; at +least,’ said Logan, ‘as far as my legal studies inform me, +they won’t. But I can take counsel’s opinion if you +insist on it.’</p> +<p>‘Then you are sailing near the wind?’</p> +<p>‘Really I don’t think so: not really what you call near.’</p> +<p>‘I am sorry for that unlucky Mrs. Gisborne,’ said Merton, +musingly. ‘And with two such tempers as <!-- page 58--><span class="pagenum">p. 58</span>the +cook’s and Mr. Fulton’s the match could not be a happy one. +Well, Logan, I suppose you won’t tell me what your game is?’</p> +<p>‘Better not, I think, but, I assure you, honour is safe. +I am certain that nobody can say anything. I rather expect to +earn public gratitude, on the whole. <i>You</i> can’t appear +in any way, nor the rest of us. By-the-bye do you remember the +address of the parson whose dog was hurt?’</p> +<p>‘I think I kept a cutting of the police case; it was amusing,’ +said Merton, looking through a kind of album, and finding presently +the record of the incident.</p> +<p>‘It may come in handy, or it may not,’ said Logan. +He then went off, and had Merton followed him he might not have been +reassured. For Logan first walked to a chemist’s shop, where +he purchased a quantity of a certain drug. Next he went to the +fencing rooms which he frequented, took his fencing mask and glove, +borrowed a fencing glove from a left-handed swordsman whom he knew, +and drove to his rooms with this odd assortment of articles. Having +deposited them, he paid a call at the dwelling of a fair member of the +Disentanglers, Miss Frere, the lady instructress in the culinary art, +at the City and Suburban College of Cookery, whereof, as we have heard, +Mr. Fulton, the eminent drysalter, was a patron and visitor. Logan +unfolded the case and his plan of campaign to Miss Frere, who listened +with intelligent sympathy.</p> +<p>‘Do you know the man by sight?’ he asked.</p> +<p>‘Oh yes, and he knows me perfectly well. Last <!-- page 59--><span class="pagenum">p. 59</span>year +he distributed the prizes at the City and Suburban School of Cookery, +and paid me the most extraordinary compliments.’</p> +<p>‘Well deserved, I am confident,’ said Logan; ‘and +now you are sure that you know exactly what you have to do, as I have +explained?’</p> +<p>‘Yes, I am to be walking through Albany Grove at a quarter +to four on Friday.’</p> +<p>‘Be punctual.’</p> +<p>‘You may rely on me,’ said Miss Frere.</p> +<p>Logan next day went to Trevor’s rooms in the Albany; he was +the capitalist who had insisted on helping to finance the Disentanglers. +To Trevor he explained the situation, unfolded his plan, and asked leave +to borrow his private hansom.</p> +<p>‘Delighted,’ said Trevor. ‘I’ll put +on an old suit of tweeds, and a seedy bowler, and drive you myself. +It will be fun. Or should we take my motor car?’</p> +<p>‘No, it attracts too much attention.’</p> +<p>‘Suppose we put a number on my cab, and paint the wheels yellow, +like pirates, you know, when they are disguising a captured ship. +It won’t do to look like a private cab.’</p> +<p>‘These strike me as judicious precautions, Trevor, and worthy +of your genius. That is, if we are not caught.’</p> +<p>‘Oh, we won’t be caught,’ said Trevor. ‘But, +in the meantime, let us find that place you mean to go to on a map of +London, and I’ll drive you there now in a dog-cart. It is +better to know the lie of the land.’</p> +<p>Logan agreed and they drove to his objective in the afternoon; it +was beyond the border of known <!-- page 60--><span class="pagenum">p. 60</span>West +Hammersmith. Trevor reconnoitred and made judicious notes of short +cuts.</p> +<p>On the following day, which was Thursday, Logan had a difficult piece +of diplomacy to execute. He called at the rooms of the clergyman, +a bachelor and a curate, whose dog and person had suffered from the +assaults of Miss Blowser’s Siamese favourite. He expected +difficulties, for a good deal of ridicule, including Merton’s +article, <i>Christianos ad Leones</i>, had been heaped on this martyr. +Logan looked forward to finding him crusty, but, after seeming a little +puzzled, the holy man exclaimed, ‘Why, you must be Logan of Trinity?’</p> +<p>‘The same,’ said Logan, who did not remember the face +or name (which was Wilkinson) of his host.</p> +<p>‘Why, I shall never forget your running catch under the scoring-box +at Lord’s,’ exclaimed Mr. Wilkinson, ‘I can see it +now. It saved the match. I owe you more than I can say,’ +he added with deep emotion.</p> +<p>‘Then be grateful, and do me a little favour. I want—just +for an hour or two—to borrow your dog,’ and he stooped to +pat the animal, a fox-terrier bearing recent and glorious scars.</p> +<p>‘Borrow Scout! Why, what can you want with him?’</p> +<p>‘I have suffered myself through an infernal wild beast of a +cat in Albany Grove,’ said Logan, ‘and I have a scheme—it +is unchristian I own—of revenge.’</p> +<p>The curate’s eyes glittered vindictively: ‘Scout is no +match for the brute,’ he said in a tone of manly regret.</p> +<p>‘Oh, Scout will be all right. There is not going to <!-- page 61--><span class="pagenum">p. 61</span>be +a fight. He is only needed to—give tone to the affair. +You will be able to walk him safely through Albany Grove after to-morrow.’</p> +<p>‘Won’t there be a row if you kill the cat? He is +what they think a valuable animal. I never could stand cats myself.’</p> +<p>‘The higher vermin,’ said Logan. ‘But not +a hair of his whiskers shall be hurt. He will seek other haunts, +that’s all.’</p> +<p>‘But you don’t mean to steal him?’ asked the curate +anxiously. ‘You see, suspicion might fall on me, as I am +known to bear a grudge to the brute.’</p> +<p>‘I steal him! Not I,’ said Logan. ‘He +shall sleep in his owner’s arms, if she likes. But Albany +Grove shall know him no more.’</p> +<p>‘Then you may take Scout,’ said Mr. Wilkinson. +‘You have a cab there, shall I drive to your rooms with you and +him?’</p> +<p>‘Do,’ said Logan, ‘and then dine at the club.’ +Which they did, and talked much cricket, Mr. Wilkinson being an enthusiast.</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>Next day, about 3.40 P.M., a hansom drew up at the corner of Albany +Grove. The fare alighted, and sauntered past Mr. Fulton’s +house. Rangoon, the Siamese puss, was sitting in a scornful and +leonine attitude, in a tree of the garden above the railings, outside +the open kitchen windows, whence came penetrating and hospitable smells +of good fare. The stranger passed, and as he returned, dropped +something here and there on the pavement. It was valerian, which +no cat can resist.</p> +<p><!-- page 62--><span class="pagenum">p. 62</span>Miss Blowser was +in a culinary crisis, and could not leave the kitchen range. Her +face was of a fiery complexion; her locks were in a fine disorder. +‘Is Rangoon in his place, Mary?’ she inquired of the kitchen +maid.</p> +<p>‘Yes, ma’am, in his tree,’ said the maid.</p> +<p>In this tree Rangoon used to sit like a Thug, dropping down on dogs +who passed by.</p> +<p>Presently the maid said, ‘Ma’am, Rangoon has jumped down, +and is walking off to the right, after a gentleman.’</p> +<p>‘After a sparrow, I dare say, bless him,’ said Miss Blowser. +Two minutes later she asked, ‘Has Rangy come back?’</p> +<p>‘No, ma’am.’</p> +<p>‘Just look out and see what he is doing, the dear.’</p> +<p>‘He’s walking along the pavement, ma’am, sniffing +at something. And oh! there’s that curate’s dog.’</p> +<p>‘Yelping little brute! I hope Rangy will give him snuff,’ +said Miss Blowser.</p> +<p>‘He’s flown at him,’ cried the maid ambiguously, +in much excitement. ‘Oh, ma’am, the gentleman has +caught hold of Rangoon. He’s got a wire mask on his face, +and great thick gloves, not to be scratched. He’s got Rangoon: +he’s putting him in a bag,’ but by this time Miss Blowser, +brandishing a saucepan with a long handle, had rushed out of the kitchen, +through the little garden, cannoned against Mr. Fulton, who happened +to be coming in with flowers to decorate his table, knocked him against +a <!-- page 63--><span class="pagenum">p. 63</span>lamp-post, opened +the garden gate, and, armed and bareheaded as she was, had rushed forth. +You might have deemed that you beheld Bellona speeding to the fray.</p> +<p>What Miss Blowser saw was a man disappearing into a hansom, whence +came the yapping of a dog. Another cab was loitering by, empty; +and this cabman had his orders. Logan had seen to <i>that</i>. +To hail that cab, to leap in, to cry, ‘Follow the scoundrel in +front: a sovereign if you catch him,’ was to the active Miss Blowser +the work of a moment. The man whipped up his horse, the pursuit +began, ‘there was racing and chasing on Cannobie Lee,’ Marylebone +rang with the screams of female rage and distress. Mr. Fulton, +he also, leaped up and rushed in pursuit, wringing his hands. +He had no turn of speed, and stopped panting. He only saw Miss +Blowser whisk into her cab, he only heard her yells that died in the +distance. Mr. Fulton sped back into his house. He shouted +for Mary: ‘What’s the matter with your mistress, with my +cook?’ he raved.</p> +<p>‘Somebody’s taken her cat, sir, and is off, in a cab, +and her after him.’</p> +<p>‘After her cat! D--- her cat,’ cried Mr. Fulton. +‘My dinner will be ruined! It is the last she shall touch +in <i>this</i> house. Out she packs—pack her things, Mary; +no, don’t—do what you can in the kitchen. I <i>must</i> +find a cook. Her cat!’ and with language unworthy of a drysalter +Mr. Fulton clapped on his hat, and sped into the street, with a vague +idea of hurrying to Fortnum and Mason’s, or some restaurant, or +a friend’s house, indeed to any conceivable place where <!-- page 64--><span class="pagenum">p. 64</span>a +cook might be recruited <i>impromptu</i>. ‘She leaves this +very day,’ he said aloud, as he all but collided with a lady, +a quiet, cool-looking lady, who stopped and stared at him.</p> +<p>‘Oh, Miss Frere!’ said Mr. Fulton, raising his hat, with +a wild gleam of hope in the trouble of his eyes, ‘I have had such +a misfortune!’</p> +<p>‘What has happened, Mr. Fulton?’</p> +<p>‘Oh, ma’am, I’ve lost my cook, and me with a dinner-party +on to-day.’</p> +<p>‘Lost your cook? Not by death, I hope?’</p> +<p>‘No, ma’am, she has run away, in the very crisis, as +I may call it.’</p> +<p>‘With whom?’</p> +<p>‘With nobody. After her cat. In a cab. I +am undone. Where can I find a cook? You may know of some +one disengaged, though it is late in the day, and dinner at seven. +Can’t you help me?’</p> +<p>‘Can you trust me, Mr. Fulton?’</p> +<p>‘Trust you; how, ma’am?’</p> +<p>‘Let me cook your dinner, at least till your cook catches her +cat,’ said Miss Frere, smiling.</p> +<p>‘You, don’t mean it, a lady!’</p> +<p>‘But a professed cook, Mr. Fulton, and anxious to help so nobly +generous a patron of the art . . . if you can trust me.’</p> +<p>‘Trust you, ma’am!’ said Mr. Fulton, raising to +heaven his obsecrating hands. ‘Why, you’re a genius. +It is a miracle, a mere miracle of good luck.’</p> +<p>By this time, of course, a small crowd of little boys and girls, +amateurs of dramatic scenes, was gathering.</p> +<p><!-- page 65--><span class="pagenum">p. 65</span>‘We have no +time to waste, Mr. Fulton. Let us go in, and let me get to work. +I dare say the cook will be back before I have taken off my gloves.’</p> +<p>‘Not her, nor does she cook again in my house. The shock +might have killed a man of my age,’ said Mr. Fulton, breathing +heavily, and leading the way up the steps to his own door. ‘Her +cat, the hussy!’ he grumbled.</p> +<p>Mr. Fulton kept his word. When Miss Blowser returned, with +her saucepan and Rangoon, she found her trunks in the passage, corded +by Mr. Fulton’s own trembling hands, and she departed for ever.</p> +<p>Her chase had been a stern chase, a long chase, the cab driven by +Trevor had never been out of sight. It led her, in the western +wilds, to a Home for Decayed and Destitute Cats, and it had driven away +before she entered the lane leading to the Home. But there she +found Rangoon. He had just been deposited there, in a seedy old +traveller’s fur-lined sleeping bag, the matron of the Home averred, +by a very pleasant gentleman, who said he had found the cat astray, +lost, and thinking him a rare and valuable animal had deemed it best +to deposit him at the Home. He had left money to pay for advertisements. +He had even left the advertisement, typewritten (by Miss Blossom).</p> +<p>‘FOUND. A magnificent Siamese Cat. Apply to the +Home for Destitute and Decayed Cats, Water Lane, West Hammersmith.’</p> +<p>‘Very thoughtful of the gentleman,’ said the matron <!-- page 66--><span class="pagenum">p. 66</span>of +the Home. ‘No; he did not leave any address. Said +something about doing good by stealth.’</p> +<p>‘Stealth, why he stole my cat!’ exclaimed Miss Blowser. +‘He must have had the advertisement printed like that ready beforehand. +It’s a conspiracy,’ and she brandished her saucepan.</p> +<p>The matron, who was prejudiced in favour of Logan, and his two sovereigns, +which now need not be expended in advertisements, was alarmed by the +hostile attitude of Miss Blowser. ‘There’s your cat,’ +she said drily; ‘it ain’t stealing a cat to leave it, with +money for its board, and to pay for advertisements, in a well-conducted +charitable institution, with a duchess for president. And he even +left five shillings to pay for the cab of anybody as might call for +the cat. There is your money.’</p> +<p>Miss Blowser threw the silver away.</p> +<p>‘Take your old cat in the bag,’ said the matron, slamming +the door in the face of Miss Blowser.</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>After the trial for breach of promise of marriage, and after paying +the very considerable damages which Miss Blowser demanded and received, +old Mr. Fulton hardened his heart, and engaged a male <i>chef</i>.</p> +<p>The gratitude of Mrs. Gisborne, now free from all anxiety, was touching. +But Merton assured her that he knew nothing whatever of the stratagem, +scarcely a worthy one, he thought, as she reported it, by which her +uncle was disentangled.</p> +<p>It was Logan’s opinion, and it is mine, that he had not been +guilty of theft, but perhaps of the wrongous detention or imprisonment +of Rangoon. ‘But,’ he <!-- page 67--><span class="pagenum">p. 67</span>said, +‘the Habeas Corpus Act has no clause about cats, and in Scottish +law, which is good enough for <i>me</i>, there is no property in cats. +You can’t, legally, <i>steal</i> them.’</p> +<p>‘How do you know?’ asked Merton.</p> +<p>‘I took the opinion of an eminent sheriff substitute.’</p> +<p>‘What is that?’</p> +<p>‘Oh, a fearfully swagger legal official: <i>you</i> have nothing +like it.’</p> +<p>‘Rum country, Scotland,’ said Merton.</p> +<p>‘Rum country, England,’ said Logan, indignantly. +‘<i>You</i> have no property in corpses.’</p> +<p>Merton was silenced.</p> +<p>Neither could foresee how momentous, to each of them, the question +of property in corpses was to prove. <i>O pectora cæca</i>!</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>Miss Blowser is now Mrs. Potter. She married her aged wooer, +and Rangoon still wins prizes at the Crystal Palace.</p> +<h2><!-- page 68--><span class="pagenum">p. 68</span>V. THE ADVENTURE +OF THE OFFICE SCREEN</h2> +<p>It is not to be supposed that all the enterprises of the Company +of Disentanglers were fortunate. Nobody can command success, though, +on the other hand, a number of persons, civil and military, are able +to keep her at a distance with surprising uniformity. There was +one class of business which Merton soon learned to renounce in despair, +just as some sorts of maladies defy our medical science.</p> +<p>‘It is curious, and not very creditable to our chemists,’ +Merton said, ‘that love philtres were once as common as seidlitz +powders, while now we have lost that secret. The wrong persons +might drink love philtres, as in the case of Tristram and Iseult. +Or an unskilled rural practitioner might send out the wrong drug, as +in the instance of Lucretius, who went mad in consequence.’</p> +<p>‘Perhaps,’ remarked Logan, ‘the chemist was voting +at the Comitia, and it was his boy who made a mistake about the mixture.’</p> +<p>‘Very probably, but as a rule, the love philtres <i>worked</i>. +Now, with all our boasted progress, the secret is totally lost. +Nothing but a love philtre would be of any use in some cases. +There is Lord Methusalem, eighty if he is a day.’</p> +<p><!-- page 69--><span class="pagenum">p. 69</span>‘Methusalem +has been unco “wastefu’ in wives”!’ said Logan.</p> +<p>‘His family have been consulting me—the women in tears. +He <i>will</i> marry his grandchildren’s German governess, and +there is nothing to be done. In such cases nothing is ever to +be done. You can easily distract an aged man’s volatile +affections, and attach them to a new charmer. But she is just +as ineligible as the first; marry he <i>will</i>, always a young woman. +Now if a respectable virgin or widow of, say, fifty, could hand him +a love philtre, and gain his heart, appearances would, more or less, +be saved. But, short of philtres, there is nothing to be done. +We turn away a great deal of business of that sort.’</p> +<p>The Society of Disentanglers, then, reluctantly abandoned dealings +in this class of affairs.</p> +<p>In another distressing business, Merton, as a patriot, was obliged +to abandon an attractive enterprise. The Marquis of Seakail was +serving his country as a volunteer, and had been mentioned in despatches. +But, to the misery of his family, he had entangled himself, before his +departure, with a young lady who taught in a high school for girls. +Her character was unimpeachable, her person graceful; still, as her +father was a butcher, the duke and duchess were reluctant to assent +to the union. They consulted Merton, and assured him that they +would not flinch from expense. A great idea flashed across Merton’s +mind. He might send out a stalwart band of Disentanglers, who, +disguised as the enemy, might capture Seakail, and carry him off prisoner +to some retreat where the fairest of his female staff (of course with +a suitable <!-- page 70--><span class="pagenum">p. 70</span>chaperon), +would await him in the character of a daughter of the hostile race. +The result would probably be to detach Seakail’s heart from his +love in England. But on reflection, Merton felt that the scheme +was unworthy of a patriot.</p> +<p>Other painful cases occurred. One lady, a mother, of resolute +character, consulted Merton on the case of her son. He was betrothed +to an excitable girl, a neighbour in the country, who wrote long literary +letters about Mr. George Meredith’s novels, and (when abroad) +was a perfect Baedeker, or Murray, or Mr. Augustus Hare: instructing +through correspondence. So the matron complained, but this was +not the worst of it. There was an unhappy family history, of a +kind infinitely more common in fiction than in real life. To be +explicit, even according to the ideas of the most abject barbarians, +the young people, unwittingly, were too near akin for matrimony.</p> +<p>‘There is nothing for it but to tell both of them the truth,’ +said Merton. ‘This is not a case in which we can be concerned.’</p> +<p>The resolute matron did not take his counsel. The man was told, +not the girl, who died in painful circumstances, still writing. +Her letters were later given to the world, though obviously not intended +for publication, and only calculated to waken unavailing grief among +the sentimental, and to make the judicious tired. There was, however, +a case in which Merton may be said to have succeeded by a happy accident. +Two visitors, ladies, were ushered into his consulting room; they were +announced as Miss Baddeley and Miss Crofton.</p> +<p><!-- page 71--><span class="pagenum">p. 71</span>Miss Baddeley was +attired in black, wore a thick veil, and trembled a good deal. +Miss Crofton, whose dress was a combination of untoward but decisive +hues, and whose hat was enormous and flamboyant, appeared to be the +other young lady’s <i>confidante</i>, and conducted the business +of the interview.</p> +<p>‘My dear friend, Miss Baddeley,’ she began, when Miss +Baddeley took her hand, and held it, as if for protection and sympathy. +‘My dear friend,’ repeated Miss Crofton, ‘has asked +me to accompany her, and state her case. She is too highly strung +to speak for herself.’</p> +<p>Miss Baddeley wrung Miss Crofton’s hand, and visibly quivered.</p> +<p>Merton assumed an air of sympathy. ‘The situation is +grave?’ he asked.</p> +<p>‘My friend,’ said Miss Crofton, thoroughly enjoying herself, +‘is the victim of passionate and unavailing remorse, are you not, +Julia?’ Julia nodded.</p> +<p>‘Deeply as I sympathise,’ said Merton, ‘it appears +to me that I am scarcely the person to consult. A mother now—’</p> +<p>‘Julia has none.’</p> +<p>‘Or a father or sister?’</p> +<p>‘But for me, Julia is alone in the world.’</p> +<p>‘Then,’ said Merton, ‘there are many periodicals +especially intended for ladies. There is <i>The Woman of the World</i>, +<i>The Girl’s Guardian Angel</i>, <i>Fashion and Passion</i>, +and so on. The Editors, in their columns, reply to questions in +cases of conscience. I have myself read the replies to <i>Correspondents</i>, +<!-- page 72--><span class="pagenum">p. 72</span>and would especially +recommend those published in a serial conducted by Miss Annie Swan.’</p> +<p>Miss Crofton shook her head.</p> +<p>‘Miss Baddeley’s social position is not that of the people +who are answered in periodicals.’</p> +<p>‘Then why does she not consult some discreet and learned person, +her spiritual director? Remorse (entirely due, no doubt, to a +conscience too delicately sensitive) is not in our line of affairs. +We only advise in cases of undesirable matrimonial engagements.’</p> +<p>‘So we are aware,’ said Miss Crofton. ‘Dear +Julia <i>is</i> engaged, or rather entangled, in—how many cases, +dear?’</p> +<p>Julia shook her head and sobbed behind her veil.</p> +<p>‘Is it one, Julia—nod when I come to the exact number—two? +three? four?’</p> +<p>At the word ‘four’ Julia nodded assent.</p> +<p>Merton very much wished that Julia would raise her veil. Her +figure was excellent, and with so many sins of this kind on her remorseful +head, her face, Merton thought, must be worth seeing. The case +was new. As a rule, clients wanted to disentangle their friends +and relations. <i>This</i> client wanted to disentangle herself.</p> +<p>‘This case,’ said Merton, ‘will be difficult to +conduct, and the expenses would be considerable. I can hardly +advise you to incur them. Our ordinary method is to throw in the +way of one or other of the engaged, or entangled persons, some one who +is likely to distract their affections; of course,’ he added, +‘to <!-- page 73--><span class="pagenum">p. 73</span>a more eligible +object. How can I hope to find an object more eligible, Miss Crofton, +than I must conceive your interesting friend to be?’</p> +<p>Miss Crofton caressingly raised Julia’s veil. Before +the victim of remorse could bury her face in her hands, Merton had time +to see that it was a very pretty one. Julia was dark, pale, with +‘eyes like billiard balls’ (as a celebrated amateur once +remarked), with a beautiful mouth, but with a somewhat wildly enthusiastic +expression.</p> +<p>‘How can I hope?’ Merton went on, ‘to find a worthier +and more attractive object? Nay, how can I expect to secure the +services not of one, but of <i>four</i>—’</p> +<p>‘Three would do, Mr. Merton,’ explained Miss Crofton. +‘Is it not so, Julia dearest?’</p> +<p>Julia again nodded assent, and a sob came from behind the veil, which +she had resumed.</p> +<p>‘Even three,’ said Merton, gallantly struggling with +a strong inclination to laugh, ‘present difficulties. I +do not speak the idle language of compliment, Miss Crofton, when I say +that our staff would be overtaxed by the exigencies of this case. +The expense also, even of three—’</p> +<p>‘Expense is no object,’ said Miss Crofton.</p> +<p>‘But would it not, though I seem to speak against my own interests, +be the wisest, most honourable, and infinitely the least costly course, +for Miss Baddeley openly to inform her suitors, three out of the four +at least, of the actual posture of affairs? I have already suggested +that, as the lady takes the matter so seriously to heart, she should +consult her director, or, <!-- page 74--><span class="pagenum">p. 74</span>if +of the Anglican or other Protestant denomination, her clergyman, who +I am sure will agree with me.’</p> +<p>Miss Crofton shook her head. ‘Julia is unattached,’ +she said.</p> +<p>‘I had gathered that to one of the four Miss Baddeley was—not +indifferent,’ said Merton.</p> +<p>‘I meant,’ said Miss Crofton severely, ‘that Miss +Baddeley is a Christian unattached. My friend is sensitive, passionate, +and deeply religious, but not a member of any recognised denomination. +The clergy—’</p> +<p>‘They never leave one alone,’ said Julia in a musical +voice. It was the first time that she had spoken. ‘Besides—’ +she added, and paused.</p> +<p>‘Besides, dear Julia <i>is</i>—entangled with a young +clergyman whom, almost in despair, she consulted on her case—at +a picnic,’ said Miss Crofton, adding, ‘he is prepared to +seek a martyr’s fate, but he insists that she must accompany him.’</p> +<p>‘How unreasonable!’ murmured Merton, who felt that this +recalcitrant clergyman was probably not the favourite out of the field +of four.</p> +<p>‘That is what <i>I</i> say,’ remarked Miss Crofton. +‘It is unreasonable to expect Julia to accompany him when she +has so much work to overtake in the home field. But that is the +way with all of them.’</p> +<p>‘All of them!’ exclaimed Merton. ‘Are all +the devoted young men under vows to seek the crown of martyrdom? +Does your friend act as recruiting sergeant, if you will pardon the +phrase, for the noble army of martyrs?’</p> +<p><!-- page 75--><span class="pagenum">p. 75</span>‘<i>Three</i> +of them have made the most solemn promises.’</p> +<p>‘And the fourth?’</p> +<p>‘<i>He</i> is not in holy orders.’</p> +<p>‘Am I to understand that all the three admirers about whom +Miss Baddeley suffers remorse are clerics?’</p> +<p>‘Yes. Julia has a wonderful attraction for the Church,’ +said Miss Crofton, ‘and that is what causes her difficulties. +She <i>can’t</i> write to <i>them</i>, or communicate to <i>them</i> +in personal interviews (as you advised), that her heart is no longer—’</p> +<p>‘Theirs,’ said Merton. ‘But why are the clergy +more privileged than the laity? I have heard of such things being +broken to laymen. Indeed it has occurred to many of us, and we +yet live.’</p> +<p>‘I have urged the same facts on Julia myself,’ said Miss +Crofton. ‘Indeed I <i>know</i>, by personal experience, +that what you say of the laity is true. They do not break their +hearts when disappointed. But Julia replies that for her to act +as you and I would advise might be to shatter the young clergymen’s +ideals.’</p> +<p>‘To shatter the ideals of three young men in holy orders!’ +said Merton.</p> +<p>‘Yes, for Julia <i>is</i> their ideal—Julia and Duty,’ +said Miss Crofton, as if she were naming a firm. ‘She lives +only,’ here Julia twisted the hand of Miss Crofton, ‘she +lives only to do good. Her fortune, entirely under her own control, +enables her to do a great deal of good.’</p> +<p>Merton began to understand that the charms of Julia were not entirely +confined to her <i>beaux yeux</i>.</p> +<p><!-- page 76--><span class="pagenum">p. 76</span>‘She is a +true philanthropist. Why, she rescued <i>me</i> from the snares +and temptations of the stage,’ said Miss Crofton.</p> +<p>‘Oh, <i>now</i> I understand,’ said Merton; ‘I +knew that your face and voice were familiar to me. Did you not +act in a revival of <i>The Country Wife</i>?’</p> +<p>‘Hush,’ said Miss Crofton.</p> +<p>‘And Lady Teazle at an amateur performance in the Canterbury +week?’</p> +<p>‘These are days of which I do not desire to be reminded,’ +said Miss Crofton. ‘I was trying to explain to you that +Julia lives to do good, and has a heart of gold. No, my dear, +Mr. Merton will much misconceive you unless you let me explain everything.’ +This remark was in reply to the agitated gestures of Julia. ‘Thrown +much among the younger clergy in the exercise of her benevolence, Julia +naturally awakens in them emotions not wholly brotherly. Her sympathetic +nature carries her off her feet, and she sometimes says “Yes,” +out of mere goodness of heart, when it would be wiser for her to say +“No”; don’t you, Julia?’</p> +<p>Merton was reminded of one of M. Paul Bourget’s amiable married +heroines, who erred out of sheer goodness of heart, but he only signified +his intelligence and sympathy.</p> +<p>‘Then poor Julia,’ Miss Crofton went on hurriedly, ‘finds +that she has misunderstood her heart. Recently, ever since she +met Captain Lestrange—of the Guards—’</p> +<p>‘The fourth?’ asked Merton.</p> +<p>Miss Crofton nodded. ‘She has felt more and more <!-- page 77--><span class="pagenum">p. 77</span>certain +that she <i>had</i> misread her heart. But on each occasion she +<i>has</i> felt this—after meeting the—well, the next one.’</p> +<p>‘I see the awkwardness,’ murmured Merton.</p> +<p>‘And then Remorse has set in, with all her horrors. Julia +has wept, oh! for nights, on my shoulder.’</p> +<p>‘Happy shoulder,’ murmured Merton.</p> +<p>‘And so, as she <i>dare</i> not shatter their ideals, and perhaps +cause them to plunge into excesses, moral or doctrinal, this is what +she has done. She has said to each, that what the Church, any +Church, needs is martyrs, and that if they will go to benighted lands, +where the crown of martyrdom may still be won, <i>then</i>, if they +return safe in five years, then she—will think of naming a day. +You will easily see the attractions of this plan for Julia, Mr. Merton. +No ideals were shattered, the young men being unaware of the circumstances. +They <i>might</i> forget her—’</p> +<p>‘Impossible,’ cried Merton.</p> +<p>‘They might forget her, or, perhaps they—’</p> +<p>Miss Crofton hesitated.</p> +<p>‘Perhaps they might never—?’ asked Merton.</p> +<p>‘Yes,’ said Miss Crofton; ‘perhaps they might <i>not</i>. +That would be all to the good for the Church; no ideals would be shattered—the +reverse—and dear Julia would—’</p> +<p>‘Cherish their pious memories,’ said Merton.</p> +<p>‘I see that you understand me,’ said Miss Crofton.</p> +<p>Merton did understand, and he was reminded of the wicked lady, who, +when tired of her lovers, had them put into a sack, and dropped into +the Seine.</p> +<p>‘But,’ he asked, ‘has this ingenious system failed +<!-- page 78--><span class="pagenum">p. 78</span>to work? I should +suppose that each young man, on distant and on deadly shores, was far +from causing inconvenience.’</p> +<p>‘The defect of the system,’ said Miss Crofton, ‘is +that none of them has gone, or seems in a hurry to go. The first—that +was Mr. Bathe, Julia?’</p> +<p>Julia nodded.</p> +<p>‘Mr. Bathe was to have gone to Turkey during the Armenian atrocities, +and to have <i>forced</i> England to intervene by taking the Armenian +side and getting massacred. Julia was intensely interested in +the Armenians. But Mr. Bathe first said that he must lead Julia +to the altar before he went; and then the massacres fell off, and he +remains at Cheltenham, and is very tiresome. And then there is +Mr. Clancy, <i>he</i> was to go out to China, and denounce the gods +of the heathen Chinese in the public streets. But <i>he</i> insisted +that Julia should first be his, and he is at Leamington, and not a step +has he taken to convert the Boxers.’</p> +<p>Merton knew the name of Clancy. Clancy had been his fag at +school, and Merton thought it extremely improbable that the Martyr’s +crown would ever adorn his brow.</p> +<p>‘Then—and this is the last of them, of the clergy, at +least—Mr. Brooke: he was to visit the New Hebrides, where the +natives are cannibals, and utterly unawakened. He is as bad as +the others. He won’t go alone. Now, Julia is obliged +to correspond with all of them in affectionate terms (she keeps well +out of their way), and this course of what she feels to be duplicity +is preying terribly on her conscience.’</p> +<p><!-- page 79--><span class="pagenum">p. 79</span>Here Julia sobbed +hysterically.</p> +<p>‘She is afraid, too, that by some accident, though none of +them know each other, they may become aware of the state of affairs, +or Captain Lestrange, to whom she is passionately attached, may find +it out, and then, not only may their ideals be wrecked, but—’</p> +<p>‘Yes, I see,’ said Merton; ‘it is awkward, very.’</p> +<p>The interview, an early one, had lasted for some time. Merton +felt that the hour of luncheon had arrived, and, after luncheon, it +had been his intention to go up to the University match. He also +knew, from various sounds, that clients were waiting in the ante-chamber. +At this moment the door opened, and the office boy, entering, laid three +cards before him.</p> +<p>‘The gentlemen asked when you could see them, sir. They +have been waiting some time. They say that their appointment was +at one o’clock, and they wish to go back to Lord’s.’</p> +<p>‘So do I,’ thought Merton sadly. He looked at the +cards, repressed a whistle, and handed them silently to Miss Crofton, +bidding the boy go, and return in three minutes.</p> +<p>Miss Crofton uttered a little shriek, and pressed the cards on Julia’s +attention. Raising her veil, Julia scanned them, wrung her hands, +and displayed symptoms of a tendency to faint. The cards bore +the names of the Rev. Mr. Bathe, the Rev. Mr. Brooke, and the Rev. Mr. +Clancy.</p> +<p>‘What is to be done?’ asked Miss Crofton in a whisper. +‘Can’t you send them away?’</p> +<p>‘Impossible,’ said Merton firmly.</p> +<p>‘If we go out they will know me, and suspect Julia.’</p> +<p>Miss Crofton looked round the room with eyes of desperate scrutiny. +They at once fell on a large old-fashioned screen, covered with engravings, +which Merton had picked up for the sake of two or three old mezzotints, +barbarously pasted on to this article of furniture by some ignorant +owner.</p> +<p>‘Saved! we are saved! Hist, Julia, hither!’ said +Miss Crofton in a stage whisper. And while Merton murmured ‘Highly +unprofessional,’ the skirts of the two ladies vanished behind +the screen.</p> +<p>Miss Crofton had not played Lady Teazle for nothing.</p> +<p>‘Ask the gentlemen to come in,’ said Merton, when the +boy returned.</p> +<p>They entered: three fair young curates, nervous and inclined to giggle. +Shades of difference of ecclesiastical opinion declared themselves in +their hats, costume, and jewellery.</p> +<p>‘Be seated, gentlemen,’ said Merton, and they sat down +on three chairs, in identical attitudes.</p> +<p>‘We hope,’ said the man on the left, ‘that we are +not here inconveniently. We would have waited, but, you see, we +have all come up for the match.’</p> +<p>‘How is it going?’ asked Merton anxiously.</p> +<p>‘Cambridge four wickets down for 115, but—’ and +the young man stared, ‘it must be, it is Pussy Merton!’</p> +<p>‘And you, Clancy Minor, why are you not converting the Heathen +Chinee? You deserve a death of torture.’</p> +<p><!-- page 81--><span class="pagenum">p. 81</span>‘Goodness! +How do you know that?’ asked Clancy.</p> +<p>‘I know many things,’ answered Merton. ‘I +am not sure which of you is Mr. Bathe.’</p> +<p>Clancy presented Mr. Bathe, a florid young evangelist, who blushed.</p> +<p>‘Armenia is still suffering, Mr. Bathe; and Mr. Brooke,’ +said Merton, detecting him by the Method of Residues, ‘the oven +is still hot in the New Hebrides. What have you got to say for +yourselves?’</p> +<p>The curates shifted nervously on their chairs.</p> +<p>‘We see, Merton,’ said Clancy, ‘that you know a +good deal which we did not know ourselves till lately. In fact, +we did not know each other till the Church Congress at Leamington. +Then the other men came to tea at my rooms, and saw—’</p> +<p>‘A portrait of a lady; each of you possessed a similar portrait,’ +said Merton.</p> +<p>‘How the dev—I mean, how do you know <i>that</i>?’</p> +<p>‘By a simple deductive process,’ said Merton. ‘There +were also letters,’ he said. Here a gurgle from behind the +screen was audible to Merton.</p> +<p>‘We did not read each others’ letters,’ said Clancy, +blushing.</p> +<p>‘Of course not,’ said Merton.</p> +<p>‘But the handwriting on the envelopes was identical,’ +Clancy went on.</p> +<p>‘Well, and what can our Society do for you?’</p> +<p>‘Why, we saw your advertisements, never guessed they were <i>yours</i>, +of course, Pussy, and—none of us is a man of the world—’</p> +<p><!-- page 82--><span class="pagenum">p. 82</span>‘I congratulate +you,’ said Merton.</p> +<p>‘So we thought we had better take advice: it seemed rather +a lark, too, don’t you know? The fact is—you appear +to have divined it somehow—we find that we are all engaged to +the same lady. We can’t fight, and we can’t all marry +her.’</p> +<p>‘In Thibet it might be practicable: martyrdom might also be +secured there,’ said Merton.</p> +<p>‘Martyrdom is not good enough,’ said Clancy.</p> +<p>‘Not half,’ said Bathe.</p> +<p>‘A man has his duties in his own country,’ said Brooke.</p> +<p>‘May I ask whether in fact your sorrows at this discovery have +been intense?’ asked Merton.</p> +<p>‘I was a good deal cut up at first,’ said Clancy, ‘I +being the latest recruit. Bathe had practically given up hope, +and had seen some one else.’ Mr. Bathe drooped his head, +and blushed. ‘Brooke laughed. Indeed we <i>all</i> +laughed, though we felt rather foolish. But what are we to do? +Should we write her a Round Robin? Bathe says he ought to be the +man, because he was first man in, and I say <i>I</i> ought to be the +man, because I am not out.’</p> +<p>‘I would not build much on <i>that</i>,’ said Merton, +and he was sure that he heard a rustle behind the screen, and a slight +struggle. Julia was trying to emerge, restrained by Miss Crofton.</p> +<p>‘I knew,’ said Clancy, ‘that there was <i>something</i>—that +there were other fellows. But that I learned, more or less, under +the seal of confession, so to speak.’</p> +<p>‘At a picnic,’ said Merton.</p> +<p><!-- page 83--><span class="pagenum">p. 83</span>At this moment the +screen fell with a crash, and Julia emerged, her eyes blazing, while +Miss Crofton followed, her hat somewhat crushed by the falling screen. +The three young men in Holy Orders, all of them desirable young men, +arose to their feet, trembling visibly.</p> +<p>‘Apostates!’ cried Julia, who had by far the best of +the dramatic situation and pressed her advantage. ‘Recreants! +was it for such as <i>you</i> that I pointed to the crown of martyrdom? +Was it for <i>your</i> shattered ideals that I have wept many a night +on Serena’s faithful breast?’ She pointed to Miss +Crofton, who enfolded her in an embrace. ‘You!’ Julia +went on, aiming at them the finger of conviction. ‘I am +but a woman, weak I may have been, wavering I may have been, but I took +you for men! I chose you to dare, perhaps to perish, for a Cause. +But now, triflers that you are, boys, mere boys, back with you to your +silly games, back to the thoughtless throng. I have done.’</p> +<p>Julia, attended by Miss Crofton, swept from the chamber, under her +indignation (which was quite as real as any of her other emotions) the +happiest woman in London. She had no more occasion for remorse, +no ideals had she sensibly injured. Her entanglements were disentangled. +She inhaled the fragrance of orange blossoms from afar, and heard the +marriage music in the chapel of the Guards. Meanwhile the three +curates and Merton felt as if they had been whipped.</p> +<p>‘Trust a woman to have the best of it,’ muttered Merton +admiringly. ‘And now, Clancy, may I offer <!-- page 84--><span class="pagenum">p. 84</span>a +hasty luncheon to you and your friends before we go to Lord’s? +Your business has been rather rapidly despatched.’</p> +<p>The conversation at luncheon turned exclusively on cricket.</p> +<h2><!-- page 85--><span class="pagenum">p. 85</span>VI. A LOVER +IN COCKY</h2> +<p>It cannot be said that the bearers of the noblest names in the land +flocked at first to the offices of Messrs. Gray and Graham. In +fact the reverse, in the beginning, was the case. Members even +of the more learned professions held aloof: indeed barristers and physicians +never became eager clients. On the other hand, Messrs. Gray and +Graham received many letters in such handwritings, such grammar, and +such orthography, that they burned them without replying. A common +sort of case was that of the young farmer whose widowed mother had set +her heart on marriage with ‘a bonny labouring boy,’ a ploughman.</p> +<p>‘We can do nothing with these people,’ Merton remarked. +‘We can’t send down a young and elegant friend of ours to +distract the affections of an elderly female agriculturist. The +bonny labouring boy would punch the fashionable head; or, at all events, +would prove much more attractive to the widow than our agent.</p> +<p>‘Then there are the members of the Hebrew community. +They hate mixed marriages, and quite right too. I deeply sympathise. +But if Leah has let her affections loose on young Timmins, an Anglo-Saxon +and a Christian, what can we do? How stop the <!-- page 86--><span class="pagenum">p. 86</span>mésalliance? +We have not, in our little regiment, one fair Hebrew boy to smile away +her maiden blame among the Hebrew mothers of Maida Vale, and to cut +out Timmins. And of course it is as bad with the men. If +young Isaacs wants to marry Miss Julia Timmins, I have no Rebecca to +slip at him. The Semitic demand, though large and perhaps lucrative, +cannot be met out of a purely Aryan supply.’</p> +<p>Business was pretty slack, and so Merton rather rejoiced over the +application of a Mrs. Nicholson, from The Laburnums, Walton-on-Dove, +Derbyshire. Mrs. Nicholson’s name was not in Burke’s +‘Landed Gentry,’ and The Laburnums could hardly be estimated +as one of the stately homes of England. Still, the lady was granted +an interview. She was what the Scots call ‘a buddy;’ +that is, she was large, round, attired in black, between two ages, and +not easily to be distinguished, by an unobservant eye, from buddies +as a class. After greetings, and when enthroned in the client’s +chair, Mrs. Nicholson stated her case with simplicity and directness.</p> +<p>‘It is my ward,’ she said, ‘Barbara Monypenny. +I must tell you that she was left in my charge till she is twenty-six. +I and her lawyers make her an allowance out of her property, which she +is to get when she marries with my consent, at whatever age.’</p> +<p>‘May I ask how old the lady is at present?’ said Merton.</p> +<p>‘She is twenty-two.’</p> +<p>‘Your kindness in taking charge of her is not not wholly uncompensated?’</p> +<p>‘No, an allowance is made to me out of the estate.’</p> +<p><!-- page 87--><span class="pagenum">p. 87</span>‘An allowance +which ends on her marriage, if she marries with your consent?’</p> +<p>‘Yes, it ends then. Her uncle trusted me a deal more +than he trusted Barbara. She was strange from a child. Fond +of the men,’ as if that were an unusual and unbecoming form of +philanthropy.</p> +<p>‘I see, and she being an heiress, the testator was anxious +to protect her youth and innocence?’</p> +<p>Mrs. Nicholson merely sniffed, but the sniff was affirmative, though +sarcastic.</p> +<p>‘Her property, I suppose, is considerable? I do not ask +from impertinent curiosity, nor for exact figures. But, as a question +of business, may we call the fortune considerable?’</p> +<p>‘Most people do. It runs into six figures.’</p> +<p>Merton, who had no mathematical head, scribbled on a piece of paper. +The result of his calculations (which I, not without some fever of the +brow, have personally verified) proved that ‘six figures’ +might be anything between 100,000<i>l</i>. and 999,000<i>l</i>. 19<i>s</i>. +11¾<i>d</i>.</p> +<p>‘Certainly it is very considerable,’ Merton said, after +a few minutes passed in arithmetical calculation. ‘Am I +too curious if I ask what is the source of this opulence?’</p> +<p>‘“Wilton’s Panmedicon, or Heal All,” a patent +medicine. He sold the patent and retired.’</p> +<p>Merton shuddered.</p> +<p>‘It would be Pammedicum if it could be anything,’ he +thought, ‘but it can’t, linguistically speaking.’</p> +<p>‘Invaluable as a subterfuge,’ said Mrs. Nicholson, obviously +with an indistinct recollection of the advertisement and of the properties +of the drug.</p> +<p><!-- page 88--><span class="pagenum">p. 88</span>Merton construed +the word as ‘febrifuge,’ silently, and asked: ‘Have +you taken the young lady much into society: has she had many opportunities +of making a choice? You are dissatisfied with the choice, I understand, +which she has made?’</p> +<p>‘I don’t let her see anybody if I can help it. +Fire and powder are better kept apart, and she is powder, a minx! +Only a fisher or two comes to the Perch, that’s the inn at Walton-on-Dove, +and <i>they</i> are mostly old gentlemen, pottering with their rods +and things. If a young man comes to the inn, I take care to trapes +after her through the nasty damp meadows.’</p> +<p>‘Is the young lady an angler?’</p> +<p>‘She is—most unwomanly I call it.’</p> +<p>Merton’s idea of the young lady rose many degrees. ‘You +said the young lady was “strange from a child, very strange. +Fond of the men.” Happily for our sex, and for the world, +it is not so very strange or unusual to take pity on us.’</p> +<p>‘She has always been queer.’</p> +<p>‘You do not hint at any cerebral disequilibrium?’ asked +Merton.</p> +<p>‘Would you mind saying that again?’ asked Mrs. Nicholson.</p> +<p>‘I meant nothing wrong <i>here</i>?’ Merton said, laying +his finger on his brow.</p> +<p>‘No, not so bad as that,’ said Mrs. Nicholson; ‘but +just queer. Uncommon. Tells odd stories about—nonsense. +She is wearing with her dreams. She reads books on, I don’t +know how to call it—Tipsy-cake, Tipsicakical Search. Histories, +<i>I</i> call it.’</p> +<p>‘Yes, I understand,’ said Merton; ‘Psychical Research.’</p> +<p><!-- page 89--><span class="pagenum">p. 89</span>‘That’s +it, and Hyptonism,’ said Mrs. Nicholson, as many ladies do.</p> +<p>‘Ah, Hyptonism, so called from its founder, Hypton, the eminent +Anglo-French chemist; he was burned at Rome, one of the latest victims +of the Inquisition,’ said Merton.</p> +<p>‘I don’t hold with Popery, sir, but it served <i>him</i> +right.’</p> +<p>‘That is all the queerness then!’</p> +<p>‘That and general discontentedness.’</p> +<p>‘Girls will be girls,’ said Merton; ‘she wants +society.’</p> +<p>‘Want must be her master then,’ said Mrs. Nicholson stolidly.</p> +<p>‘But about the man of her choice, have you anything against +him?’</p> +<p>‘No, but nothing <i>for</i> him: I never even saw him.’</p> +<p>‘Then where did Miss Monypenny make his acquaintance?’</p> +<p>‘Well, like a fool, I let her go to pass Christmas with some +distant cousins of my own, who should have known better. They +stupidly took her to a dance, at Tutbury, and there she met him: just +that once.’</p> +<p>‘And they became engaged on so short an acquaintance?’</p> +<p>‘Not exactly that. She was not engaged when she came +home, and did not seem to mean to be. She did talk of him a lot. +He had got round her finely: told her that he was going out to the war, +and that they were sister spirits. He had dreamed of meeting her, +he said, and that was why he came to <!-- page 90--><span class="pagenum">p. 90</span>the +ball, for he did not dance. He said he believed they had met in +a state of pre—something; meaning, if you understand me, before +they were born, which could not be the case: she not being a twin, still +less <i>his</i> twin.’</p> +<p>‘That would be the only way of accounting for it, certainly,’ +said Merton. ‘But what followed? Did they correspond?’</p> +<p>‘He wrote to her, but she showed me the letter, and put it +in the fire unopened. He had written his name, Marmaduke Ingles, +on a corner of the envelope.’</p> +<p>‘So far her conduct seems correct, even austere,’ said +Merton.</p> +<p>‘It was at first, but then he wrote from South Africa, where +he volunteered as a doctor. He was a doctor at Tutbury.’</p> +<p>‘She opened that letter?’</p> +<p>‘Yes, and showed it to me. He kept on with his nonsense, +asking her never to forget him, and sending his photograph in cocky.’</p> +<p>‘Pardon!’ said Merton.</p> +<p>‘In uniform. And if he fell, she would see his ghost, +in cocky, crossing her room, he said. In fact he knew how to get +round the foolish girl. I believe he went out there just to make +himself interesting.’</p> +<p>‘Did you try to find out what sort of character he had at home?’</p> +<p>‘Yes, there was no harm in it, only he had no business to speak +of, everybody goes to Dr. Younghusband.’</p> +<p>‘Then, really, if he is an honest young man, as he <!-- page 91--><span class="pagenum">p. 91</span>seems +to be a patriotic fellow, are you certain that you are wise in objecting?’</p> +<p>‘I <i>do</i> object,’ said Mrs. Nicholson, and indeed +her motives for refusing her consent were only too obvious.</p> +<p>‘Are they quite definitely engaged?’ asked Merton.</p> +<p>‘Yes they are now, by letter, and she says she will wait for +him till I die, or she is twenty-six, if I don’t give my consent. +He writes every mail, from places with outlandish names, in Africa. +And she keeps looking in a glass ball, like the labourers’ women, +some of them; she’s sunk as low as <i>that</i>; so superstitious; +and sometimes she tells me that she sees what he is doing, and where +he is; and now and then, when his letters come, she shows me bits of +them, to prove she was right. But just as often she’s wrong; +only she won’t listen to <i>me</i>. She says it’s +Telly, Tellyopathy. I say it’s flat nonsense.’</p> +<p>‘I quite agree with you,’ said Merton, with conviction. +‘After all, though, honest, as far as you hear. . . .’</p> +<p>‘Oh yes, honest enough, but that’s all,’ interrupted +Mrs. Nicholson, with a hearty sneer.</p> +<p>‘Though he bears a good character, from what you tell me he +seems to be a very silly young man.’</p> +<p>‘Silly Johnny to silly Jenny,’ put in Mrs. Nicholson.</p> +<p>‘A pair with ideas so absurd could not possibly be happy.’ +Merton reasoned. ‘Why don’t you take her into the +world, and show her life? With her fortune and with <i>you</i> +to take her about, she would soon forget this egregiously foolish romance.’</p> +<p><!-- page 92--><span class="pagenum">p. 92</span>‘And me to +have her snapped up by some whipper-snapper that calls himself a lord? +Not me, Mr. Graham,’ said Mrs. Nicholson. ‘The money +that her uncle made by the Panmedicon is not going to be spent on horses, +and worse, if I can help it.’</p> +<p>‘Then,’ said Merton, ‘all I can do for you is by +our ordinary method—to throw some young man of worth and education +in the way of your ward, and attempt to—divert her affections.’</p> +<p>‘And have <i>him</i> carry her off under my very nose? +Not much, Mr. Graham. Why where do <i>I</i> come in, in this pretty +plan?’</p> +<p>‘Do not suppose me to suggest anything so—detrimental +to your interests, Mrs. Nicholson. Is your ward beautiful?’</p> +<p>‘A toad!’ said Mrs. Nicholson with emphasis.</p> +<p>‘Very well. There is no danger. The gentleman of +whom I speak is betrothed to one of the most beautiful girls in England. +They are deeply attached, and their marriage is only deferred for prudential +reasons.’</p> +<p>‘I don’t trust one of them,’ said Mrs. Nicholson.</p> +<p>‘Very well, madam,’ answered Merton severely; ‘I +have done all that experience can suggest. The gentleman of whom +I speak has paid especial attention to the mental delusions under which +your ward is labouring, and has been successful in removing them in +some cases. But as you reject my suggestion’—he rose, +so did Mrs. Nicholson—‘I have the honour of wishing you +a pleasant journey back to Derbyshire.’</p> +<p><!-- page 93--><span class="pagenum">p. 93</span>‘A bullet +may hit him,’ said Mrs. Nicholson with much acerbity. ‘That’s +my best hope.’</p> +<p>Then Merton bowed her out.</p> +<p>‘The old woman will never let the girl marry anybody, except +some adventurer, who squares her by giving her the full value of her +allowance out of the estate,’ thought Merton, adding ‘I +wonder how much it is! Six figures is anything between a hundred +thousand and a million!’</p> +<p>The man he had thought of sending down to divert Miss Monypenny’s +affections from the young doctor was Jephson, the History coach, at +that hour waiting for a professorship to enable him to marry Miss Willoughby.</p> +<p>However, he dismissed Mrs. Nicholson and her ward from his mind. +About a fortnight later Merton received a letter directed in an uneducated +hand. ‘Another of the agricultural classes,’ he thought, +but, looking at the close of the epistle, he saw the name of Eliza Nicholson. +She wrote:</p> +<blockquote><p>‘Sir,—Barbara has been at her glass ball, +and seen him being carried on board a ship. If she is right, and +she is not always wrong, he is on his way home. Though I will +never give my consent, this spells botheration for me. You can +send down your young man that cures by teleopathy, a thing that has +come up since my time. He can stay at the Perch, and take a fishing +rod, then they are safe to meet. I trust him no more than the +rest, but she may fall between two stools, if the doctor does come home.</p> +<p>‘Your obedient servant,</p> +<p>‘Eliza Nicholson.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p><!-- page 94--><span class="pagenum">p. 94</span>‘Merely to +keep one’s hand in,’ thought Merton, ‘in the present +disappointing slackness of business, I’ll try to see Jephson. +I don’t like or trust him. I don’t think he is the +man for Miss Willoughby. So, if he ousts the doctor, and catches +the heiress, why “there was more lost at Shirramuir,” as +Logan says.’</p> +<p>Merton managed to go up to Oxford, and called on Jephson. He +found him anxious about a good, quiet, cheap place for study.</p> +<p>‘Do you fish?’ asked Merton.</p> +<p>‘When I get the chance,’ said Jephson.</p> +<p>He was a dark, rather clumsy, but not unprepossessing young don, +with a very slight squint.</p> +<p>‘If you fish did you ever try the Perch—I mean an inn, +not the fish of the same name—at Walton-on-Dove? A pretty +quiet place, two miles of water, local history perhaps interesting. +It is not very far from Tutbury, where Queen Mary was kept, I think.’</p> +<p>‘It sounds well,’ said Jephson; ‘I’ll write +to the landlord and ask about terms.’</p> +<p>‘You could not do better,’ said Merton, and he took his +leave.</p> +<p>‘Now, am I,’ thought Merton as he walked down the Broad, +‘to put Jephson up to it? If I don’t, of course I +can’t “reap the benefit of one single pin” for the +Society: Jephson not being a member. But the money, anyhow, would +come from that old harpy out of the girl’s estate. <i>Olet</i>! +I don’t like the fragrance of that kind of cash. But if +the girl really is plain, “a toad,” nothing may happen. +On the <!-- page 95--><span class="pagenum">p. 95</span>other hand, +Jephson is sure to hear about her position from local gossip—that +she is rich, and so on. Perhaps she is not so very plain. +They are sure to meet, or Mrs. Nicholson will bring them together in +her tactful way. She has not much time to lose if the girl’s +glass ball yarn is true, and it <i>may</i> be true by a fluke. +Jephson is rather bitten by a taste for all that “teleopathy” +business, as the old Malaprop calls it. On the whole, I shall +say no more to him, but let him play the game, if he goes to Walton, +off his own bat.’</p> +<p>Presently Merton received a note from Jephson dated ‘The Perch, +Walton-on-Dove.’ Jephson expressed his gratitude; the place +suited his purpose very well. He had taken a brace and a half +of trout, ‘bordering on two pounds’ (‘one and a quarter,’ +thought Merton). ‘And, what won’t interest <i>you</i>,’ +his letter said, ‘I have run across a curiously interesting subject, +what <i>you</i> would call <i>hysterical</i>. But what, after +all, is hysteria?’ &c., &c.</p> +<p>‘<i>L’affaire est dans le sac</i>!’ said Merton +to himself. ‘Jephson and Miss Monypenny have met!’</p> +<p>Weeks passed, and one day, on arriving at the office, Merton found +Miss Willoughby there awaiting his arrival. She was the handsome +Miss Willoughby, Jephson’s betrothed, a learned young lady who +lived but poorly by verifying references and making researches at the +Record Office.</p> +<p>Merton at once had a surmise, nor was it mistaken. The usual +greetings had scarcely passed, when the girl, with cheeks on fire and +eyes aflame, said:</p> +<p>‘Mr. Merton, do you remember a question, rather <!-- page 96--><span class="pagenum">p. 96</span>unconventional, +which you put to me at the dinner party you and Mr. Logan gave at the +restaurant?’</p> +<p>‘I ought not to have said it,’ said Merton, ‘but +then it was an unconventional gathering. I asked if you—’</p> +<p>‘Your words were “Had I a spark of the devil in me?” +Well, I have! Can I—’</p> +<p>‘Turn it to any purpose? You can, Miss Willoughby, and +I shall have the honour to lay the method before you, of course only +for your consideration, and under seal of secrecy. Indeed I was +just about to write to you asking for an interview.’</p> +<p>Merton then laid the circumstances in which he wanted Miss Willoughby’s +aid before her, but these must be reserved for the present. She +listened, was surprised, was clearly ready for more desperate adventures; +she came into his views, and departed.</p> +<p>‘Jephson <i>has</i> played the game off his own bat—and +won it,’ thought Merton to himself. ‘What a very abject +the fellow is! But, after all, I have disentangled Miss Willoughby; +she was infinitely too good for the man, with his squint.’</p> +<p>As Merton indulged in these rather Pharisaical reflections, Mrs. +Nicholson was announced. Merton greeted her, and gave orders that +no other client was to be admitted. He was himself rather nervous. +Was Mrs. Nicholson in a rage? No, her eyes beamed friendly; geniality +clothed her brow.</p> +<p>‘He has squared her,’ thought Merton.</p> +<p>Indeed, the lady had warmly grasped his hand with both of her own, +which were imprisoned in tight new <!-- page 97--><span class="pagenum">p. 97</span>gloves, +while her bonnet spoke of regardlessness of expense and recent prodigality. +She fell back into the client’s chair.</p> +<p>‘Oh, sir,’ she said, ‘when first we met we did +not part, or <i>I</i> did not—<i>you</i> were quite the gentleman—on +the best of terms. But now, how can I speak of your wise advice, +and how much don’t I owe you?’</p> +<p>Merton answered very gravely: ‘You do not owe me anything, +Madam. Please understand that I took absolutely no professional +steps in your affair.’</p> +<p>‘What?’ cried Mrs. Nicholson. ‘You did not +send down that blessed young man to the Perch?’</p> +<p>‘I merely suggested that the inn might suit a person whom I +knew, who was looking for country quarters. Your name never crossed +my lips, nor a word about the business on which you did me the honour +to consult me.’</p> +<p>‘Then I owe you nothing?’</p> +<p>‘Nothing at all.’</p> +<p>‘Well, I do call this providential,’ said Mrs. Nicholson, +with devout enthusiasm.</p> +<p>‘You are not in my debt to the extent of a farthing, but if +you think I have accidentally been—’</p> +<p>‘An instrument?’ said Mrs. Nicholson.</p> +<p>‘Well, an unconscious instrument, perhaps you can at least +tell me why you think so. What has happened?’</p> +<p>‘You really don’t know?’</p> +<p>‘I only know that you are pleased, and that your anxieties +seem to be relieved.’</p> +<p><!-- page 98--><span class="pagenum">p. 98</span>‘Why, he saved +her from being burned, and the brave,’ said Mrs. Nicholson, ‘deserve +the fair, not that <i>she</i> is a beauty.’</p> +<p>‘Do tell me all that happened.’</p> +<p>‘And tell you I can, for that precious young man took me into +his confidence. First, when I heard that he had come to the Perch, +I trampled about the damp riverside with Barbara, and sure enough they +met, he being on the Perch’s side of the fence, and Barbara’s +line being caught high up in a tree on ours, as often happens. +Well, I asked him to come over the fence and help her to get her line +clear, which he did very civilly, and then he showed her how to fish, +and then I asked him to tea and left them alone a bit, and when I came +back they were talking about teleopathy, and her glass ball, and all +that nonsense. And he seemed interested, but not to believe in +it quite. I could not understand half their tipsycakical lingo. +So of course they often met again at the river, and he often came to +tea, and she seemed to take to him—she was always one for the +men. And at last a very queer thing happened, and gave him his +chance.</p> +<p>‘It was a very hot day in July, and she fell asleep on a seat +under a tree with her glass ball in her lap; she had been staring at +it, I suppose. Any way she slept on, till the sun went round and +shone full on the ball; and just as he, Mr. Jephson, that is, came into +the gate, the glass ball began to act like a burning glass and her skirt +began to smoke. Well, he waited a bit, I think, till the skirt +blazed a little, and then he rushed up and threw his coat over her skirt, +and put <!-- page 99--><span class="pagenum">p. 99</span>the fire out. +And so he saved her from being a Molochaust, like you read about in +the bible.’</p> +<p>Merton mentally disengaged the word ‘Molochaust’ into +‘Moloch’ and ‘holocaust.’</p> +<p>‘And there she was, when I happened to come by, a-crying and +carrying on, with her head on his shoulder.’</p> +<p>‘A pleasing group, and so they were engaged on the spot?’ +asked Merton.</p> +<p>‘Not she! She held off, and thanked her preserver; but +she would be true, she said, to her lover in cocky. But before +that Mr. Jephson had taken me into his confidence.’</p> +<p>‘And you made no objection to his winning your ward, if he +could?’</p> +<p>‘No, sir, I could trust that young man: I could trust him with +Barbara.’</p> +<p>‘His arguments,’ said Merton, ‘must have been very +cogent?’</p> +<p>‘He understood my situation if she married, and what I deserved,’ +said Mrs. Nicholson, growing rather uncomfortable, and fidgeting in +the client’s chair.</p> +<p>Merton, too, understood, and knew what the sympathetic arguments +of Jephson must have been.</p> +<p>‘And, after all,’ Merton asked, ‘the lover has +prospered in his suit?’</p> +<p>‘This is how he got round her. He said to me that night, +in private: “Mrs. Nicholson,” said he, “your niece +is a very interesting historical subject. I am deeply anxious, +apart from my own passion for her, to relieve her from a singular but +not very uncommon delusion.”</p> +<p><!-- page 100--><span class="pagenum">p. 100</span>‘“Meaning +her lover in cocky,” I said.</p> +<p>‘“There is no lover in cocky,” says he.</p> +<p>‘“No Dr. Ingles!” said I.</p> +<p>‘“Yes, there <i>is</i> a Dr. Ingles, but he is not her +lover, and your niece never met him. I bicycled to Tutbury lately, +and, after examining the scene of Queen Mary’s captivity, I made +a few inquiries. What I had always suspected proved to be true. +Dr. Ingles was not present at that ball at the Bear at Tutbury.”</p> +<p>‘Well,’ Mrs. Nicholson went on, ‘you might have +knocked me down with a feather! I had never asked my second cousins +the question, not wanting them to guess about my affairs. But +down I sat, and wrote to Maria, and got her answer. Barbara never +saw Dr. Ingles! only heard the girls mention him, and his going to the +war. And then, after that, by Mr. Jephson’s advice, I went +and gave Barbara my mind. She should marry Mr. Jephson, who saved +her life, or be the laughing stock of the country. I showed her +up to herself, with her glass ball, and her teleopathy, and her sham +love-letters, that she wrote herself, and all her humbug. She +cried, and she fainted, and she carried on, but I went at her whenever +she could listen to reason. So she said “Yes,” and +I am the happy woman.’</p> +<p>‘And Mr. Jephson is to be congratulated on so sensible and +veracious a bride,’ said Merton.</p> +<p>‘Oh, he says it is by no means an uncommon case, and that he +has effected a complete cure, and they will be as happy as idiots,’ +said Mrs. Nicholson, as she rose to depart.</p> +<p><!-- page 101--><span class="pagenum">p. 101</span>She left Merton +pensive, and not disposed to overrate human nature. ‘But +there can’t be many fellows like Jephson,’ he said. +‘I wonder how much the six figures run to?’ But that +question was never answered to his satisfaction.</p> +<h2><!-- page 102--><span class="pagenum">p. 102</span>VII. THE +ADVENTURE OF THE EXEMPLARY EARL</h2> +<h3>I. The Earl’s Long-Lost Cousin</h3> +<p>‘A jilt in time saves nine,’ says the proverbial wisdom +of our forefathers, adding, ‘One jilt makes many.’ +In the last chapter of the book of this chronicle, we told how the mercenary +Mr. Jephson proved false to the beautiful Miss Willoughby, who supported +existence by her skill in deciphering and transcribing the manuscript +records of the past. We described the consequent visit of Miss +Willoughby to the office of the Disentanglers, and how she reminded +Merton that he had asked her once ‘if she had a spark of the devil +in her.’ She had that morning received, in fact, a letter, +crawling but explicit, from the unworthy Jephson, her lover. Retired, +he said, to the rural loneliness of Derbyshire, he had read in his own +heart, and what he there deciphered convinced him that, as a man of +honour, he had but one course before him: he must free Miss Willoughby +from her engagement. The lady was one of those who suffer in silence. +She made no moan, and no reply to Jephson’s letter; but she did +visit Merton, and, practically, gave him to understand that she was +ready to start as a Corsair on the seas of amorous adventure. +She had nailed the black flag to the <!-- page 103--><span class="pagenum">p. 103</span>mast: +unhappy herself, she was apt to have no mercy on the sentiments and +affections of others.</p> +<p>Merton, as it chanced, had occasion for the services of a lady in +this mood; a lady at once attractive, and steely-hearted; resolute to +revenge, on the whole of the opposite sex, the baseness of a Fellow +of his College. Such is the frenzy of an injured love—illogical +indeed (for we are not responsible for the errors of isolated members +of our sex), but primitive, natural to women, and even to some men, +in Miss Willoughby’s position.</p> +<p>The occasion for such services as she would perform was provided +by a noble client who, on visiting the office, had found Merton out +and Logan in attendance. The visitor was the Earl of Embleton, +of the North. Entering the rooms, he fumbled with the string of +his eyeglass, and, after capturing it, looked at Logan with an air of +some bewilderment. He was a tall, erect, slim, and well-preserved +patrician, with a manner really shy, though hasty critics interpreted +it as arrogant. He was ‘between two ages,’ a very +susceptible period in the history of the individual.</p> +<p>‘I think we have met before,’ said the Earl to Logan. +‘Your face is not unfamiliar to me.’</p> +<p>‘Yes,’ said Logan, ‘I have seen you at several +places;’ and he mumbled a number of names.</p> +<p>‘Ah, I remember now—at Lady Lochmaben’s,’ +said Lord Embleton. ‘You are, I think, a relation of hers. +. . .’</p> +<p>‘A distant relation: my name is Logan.’</p> +<p>‘What, of the Restalrig family?’ said the Earl, with +excitement.</p> +<p><!-- page 104--><span class="pagenum">p. 104</span>‘A far-off +kinsman of the Marquis,’ said Logan, adding, ‘May I ask +you to be seated?’</p> +<p>‘This is really very interesting to me—surprisingly interesting,’ +said the Earl. ‘What a strange coincidence! How small +the world is, how brief are the ages! Our ancestors, Mr. Logan, +were very intimate long ago.’</p> +<p>‘Indeed?’ said Logan.</p> +<p>‘Yes. I would not speak of it to everybody; in fact, +I have spoken of it to no one; but recently, examining some documents +in my muniment-room, I made a discovery as interesting to me as it must +be to you. Our ancestors three hundred years ago—in 1600, +to be exact—were fellow conspirators.’</p> +<p>‘Ah, the old Gowrie game, to capture the King?’ asked +Logan, who had once kidnapped a cat.</p> +<p>His knowledge of history was mainly confined to that obscure and +unexplained affair, in which his wicked old ancestor is thought to have +had a hand.</p> +<p>‘That is it,’ said the visitor—‘the Gowrie +mystery! You may remember that an unknown person, a friend of +your ancestor, was engaged?’</p> +<p>‘Yes,’ said Logan; ‘he was never identified. +Was his name Harris?’</p> +<p>The peer half rose to his feet, flushed a fine purple, twiddled the +obsolete little grey tuft on his chin, and sat down again.</p> +<p>‘I think I said, Mr. Logan, that the hitherto unidentified +associate of your ancestor was <i>a member of my own family</i>. +Our name is <i>not</i> Harris—a name very honourably borne—our +family name is Guevara. <!-- page 105--><span class="pagenum">p. 105</span>My +ancestor was a cousin of the brave Lord Willoughby.’</p> +<p>‘Most interesting! You must pardon me, but as nobody +ever knew what you have just found out, you will excuse my ignorance,’ +said Logan, who, to be sure, had never heard of the brave Lord Willoughby.</p> +<p>‘It is I who ought to apologise,’ said the visitor. +‘Your mention of the name of Harris appeared to me to indicate +a frivolity as to matters of the past which, I must confess, is apt +to make me occasionally forget myself. <i>Noblesse oblige</i>, +you know: we respect ourselves—in our progenitors.’</p> +<p>‘Unless he wants to prevent someone from marrying his great-grandmother, +I wonder what he is doing with his Tales of a Grandfather <i>here</i>,’ +thought Logan, but he only smiled, and said, ‘Assuredly—my +own opinion. I wish I could respect <i>my</i> ancestor!’</p> +<p>‘The gentleman of whom I speak, the associate of your own distant +progenitor, was the founder of our house, as far as mere titles are +concerned. We were but squires of Northumbria, of ancient Celtic +descent, before the time of Queen Elizabeth. My ancestor at that +time—’</p> +<p>‘Oh bother his pedigree!’ thought Logan.</p> +<p>‘—was a young officer in the English garrison of Berwick, +and <i>he</i>, I find, was <i>your</i> ancestor’s unknown correspondent. +I am not skilled in reading old hands, and I am anxious to secure a +trustworthy person—really trustworthy—to transcribe the +manuscripts which contain these exciting details.’</p> +<p>Logan thought that the office of the Disentanglers was hardly the +place to come to in search of an <!-- page 106--><span class="pagenum">p. 106</span>historical +copyist. However, he remembered Miss Willoughby, and said that +he knew a lady of great skill and industry, of good family too, upon +whom his client might entirely depend. ‘She is a Miss Willoughby,’ +he added.</p> +<p>‘Not one of the Willoughbys of the Wicket, a most worthy, though +unfortunate house, nearly allied, as I told you, to my own, about three +hundred years ago?’ said the Earl.</p> +<p>‘Yes, she is a daughter of the last squire.’</p> +<p>‘Ruined in the modern race for wealth, like so many!’ +exclaimed the peer, and he sat in silence, deeply moved; his lips formed +a name familiar to Law Courts.</p> +<p>‘Excuse my emotion, Mr. Logan,’ he went on. ‘I +shall be happy to see and arrange with this lady, who, I trust will, +as my cousin, accept my hospitality at Rookchester. I shall be +deeply interested, as you, no doubt, will also be, in the result of +her researches into an affair which so closely concerns both you and +me.’</p> +<p>He was silent again, musing deeply, while Logan marvelled more and +more what his real original business might be. All this affair +of the documents and the muniment-room had arisen by the merest accident, +and would not have arisen if the Earl had found Merton at home. +The Earl obviously had a difficulty in coming to the point: many clients +had. To approach a total stranger on the most intimate domestic +affairs (even if his ancestor and yours were in a big thing together +three hundred years ago) is, to a sensitive patrician, no easy task. +In fact, even members of the middle class were, as clients, occasionally +affected by shyness.</p> +<p><!-- page 107--><span class="pagenum">p. 107</span>‘Mr. Logan,’ +said the Earl, ‘I am not a man of to-day. The cupidity of +our age, the eagerness with which wealthy aliens are welcomed into our +best houses and families, is to me, I may say, distasteful. Better +that our coronets were dimmed than that they should be gilded with the +gold eagles of Chicago or blazing with the diamonds of Kimberley. +My feelings on this point are unusually—I do not think that they +are unduly—acute.’</p> +<p>Logan murmured assent.</p> +<p>‘I am poor,’ said the Earl, with all the expansiveness +of the shy; ‘but I never held what is called a share in my life.’</p> +<p>‘It is long,’ said Logan, with perfect truth, ‘since +anything of that sort was in my own possession. In that respect +my ’scutcheon, so to speak, is without a stain.’</p> +<p>‘How fortunate I am to have fallen in with one of sentiments +akin to my own, unusual as they are!’ said the Earl. ‘I +am a widower,’ he went on, ‘and have but one son and one +daughter.’</p> +<p>‘He is coming to business <i>now</i>,’ thought Logan.</p> +<p>‘The former, I fear, is as good almost as affianced—is +certainly in peril of betrothal—to a lady against whom I have +not a word to say, except that she is inordinately wealthy, the sole +heiress of—’ Here the Earl gasped, and was visibly +affected. ‘You may have heard, sir,’ the patrician +went on, ‘of a commercial transaction of nature unfathomable to +myself—I have not sought for information,’ he waved his +hand impatiently, ‘a transaction called a Straddle?’</p> +<p>Logan murmured that he was aware of the existence <!-- page 108--><span class="pagenum">p. 108</span>of +the phrase, though unconscious of its precise meaning.</p> +<p>‘The lady’s wealth is based on a successful Straddle, +operated by her only known male ancestor, in—Bristles—Hogs’ +Bristles and Lard,’ said the Earl.</p> +<p>‘Miss Bangs!’ exclaimed Logan, knowing the name, wealth, +and the source of the wealth of the ruling Chicago heiress of the day.</p> +<p>‘I am to be understood to speak of Miss Bangs—as her +name has been pronounced between us—with all the respect due to +youth, beauty, and an amiable disposition,’ said the peer; ‘but +Bristles, Mr. Logan, Hogs’ Bristles and Lard. And a Straddle!’</p> +<p>‘Lucky devil, Scremerston,’ thought Logan, for Scremerston +was the only son of Lord Embleton, and he, as it seemed, had secured +that coveted prize of the youth of England, the heart of the opulent +Miss Bangs. But Logan only sighed and stared at the wall as one +who hears of an irremediable disaster.</p> +<p>‘If they really were betrothed,’ said Lord Embleton, +‘I would have nothing to say or do in the way of terminating the +connection, however unwelcome. A man’s word is his word. +It is in these circumstances of doubt (when the fortunes of a house +ancient, though titularly of mere Tudor <i>noblesse</i>, hang in the +balance) that, despairing of other help, I have come to you.’</p> +<p>‘But,’ asked Logan, ‘have things gone so very far? +Is the disaster irremediable? I am acquainted with your son, Lord +Scremerston; in fact, he was my fag at school. May I speak quite +freely?’</p> +<p>‘Certainly; you will oblige me.’</p> +<p><!-- page 109--><span class="pagenum">p. 109</span>‘Well, by +the candour of early friendship, Scremerston was called the Arcadian, +an allusion to a certain tenderness of heart allied with—h’m—a +rather confident and sanguine disposition. I think it may console +you to reflect that perhaps he rather overestimates his success with +the admirable young lady of whom we spoke. You are not certain +that she has accepted him?’</p> +<p>‘No,’ said the Earl, obviously relieved. ‘I +am sure that he has not positively proposed to her. He knows my +opinion: he is a dutiful son, but he did seem very confident—seemed +to think that his honour was engaged.’</p> +<p>‘I think we may discount that a little,’ said Logan, +‘and hope for the best.’</p> +<p>‘I shall try to take that view,’ said the Earl. +‘You console me infinitely, Mr. Logan.’</p> +<p>Logan was about to speak again, when his client held up a gently +deprecating hand.</p> +<p>‘That is not all, Mr. Logan. I have a daughter—’</p> +<p>Logan chanced to be slightly acquainted with the daughter, Lady Alice +Guevara, a very nice girl.</p> +<p>‘Is she attached to a South African Jew?’ Logan thought.</p> +<p>‘In this case,’ said the client, ‘there is no want +of blood; Royal in origin, if it comes to that. To the House of +Bourbon I have no objection, in itself, that would be idle affectation.’</p> +<p>Logan gasped.</p> +<p>Was this extraordinary man anxious to reject a lady ‘multimillionaire’ +for his son, and a crown of some sort or other for his daughter?</p> +<p><!-- page 110--><span class="pagenum">p. 110</span>‘But the +stain of ill-gotten gold—silver too—is ineffaceable.’</p> +<p>‘It really cannot be Bristles this time,’ thought Logan.</p> +<p>‘And a dynasty based on the roulette-table, . . . ’</p> +<p>‘Oh, the Prince of Scalastro!’ cried Logan.</p> +<p>‘I see that you know the worst,’ said the Earl.</p> +<p>Logan knew the worst fairly well. The Prince of Scalastro owned +a percentage of two or three thousand which Logan had dropped at the +tables licensed in his principality.</p> +<p>‘To the Prince, personally, I bear no ill-will,’ said +the Earl. ‘He is young, brave, scientific, accomplished, +and this unfortunate attachment began before he inherited his—h’m—dominions. +I fear it is, on both sides, a deep and passionate sentiment. +And now, Mr. Logan, you know the full extent of my misfortunes: what +course does your experience recommend? I am not a harsh father. +Could I disinherit Scremerston, which I cannot, the loss would not be +felt by him in the circumstances. As to my daughter—’</p> +<p>The peer rose and walked to the window. When he came back and +resumed his seat, Logan turned on him a countenance of mournful sympathy. +The Earl silently extended his hand, which Logan took. On few +occasions had a strain more severe been placed on his gravity, but, +unlike a celebrated diplomatist, he ‘could command his smile.’</p> +<p>‘Your case,’ he said, ‘is one of the most singular, +delicate, and distressing which I have met in the course of my experience. +There is no objection <!-- page 111--><span class="pagenum">p. 111</span>to +character, and poverty is not the impediment: the reverse. You +will permit me, no doubt, to consult my partner, Mr. Merton; we have +naturally no secrets between us, and he possesses a delicacy of touch +and a power of insight which I can only regard with admiring envy. +It was he who carried to a successful issue that difficult case in the +family of the Sultan of Mingrelia (you will observe that I use a fictitious +name). I can assure you, Lord Embleton, that polygamy presents +problems almost insoluble; problems of extreme delicacy—or indelicacy.’</p> +<p>‘I had not heard of that affair,’ said the Earl. +‘Like Eumæus in Homer and in Mr. Stephen Phillips, I dwell +among the swine, and come rarely to the city.’</p> +<p>‘The matter never went beyond the inmost diplomatic circles,’ +said Logan. ‘The Sultan’s favourite son, the Jam, +or Crown Prince, of Mingrelia (<i>Jamreal</i>, they called him), loved +four beautiful Bollachians, sisters—again I disguise the nationality.’</p> +<p>‘Sisters!’ exclaimed the peer; ‘I have always given +my vote against the Deceased Wife’s Sister Bill; but <i>four</i>, +and all alive!’</p> +<p>‘The law of the Prophet, as you are aware, is not monogamous,’ +said Logan; ‘and the Eastern races are not averse to connections +which are reprobated by our Western ideas. The real difficulty +was that of religion.</p> +<blockquote><p>‘Oh, why from the heretic girl of my soul<br /> +Should I fly, to seek elsewhere an orthodox kiss?’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>hummed Logan, rather to the surprise of Lord Embleton. He went +on: ‘It is not so much that <!-- page 112--><span class="pagenum">p. 112</span>the +Mingrelians object to mixed marriages in the matter of religion, but +the Bollachians, being Christians, do object, and have a horror of polygamy. +It was a cruel affair. All four girls, and the Jamreal himself, +were passionately attached to each other. It was known, too, that, +for political reasons, the maidens had received a dispensation from +the leading Archimandrite, their metropolitan, to marry the proud Paynim. +The Mingrelian Sultan is suzerain of Bollachia; his native subjects +are addicted to massacring the Bollachians from religious motives, and +the Bollachian Church (Nestorians, as you know) hoped that the four +brides would convert the Jamreal to their creed, and so solve the Bollachian +question. The end, they said, justified the means.’</p> +<p>‘Jesuitical,’ said the Earl, shaking his head sadly.</p> +<p>‘That is what my friend and partner, Mr. Merton, thought,’ +said Logan, ‘when we were applied to by the Sultan. Merton +displayed extraordinary tact and address. All was happily settled, +the Sultan and the Jamreal were reconciled, the young ladies met other +admirers, and learned that what they had taken for love was but a momentary +infatuation.’</p> +<p>The Earl sighed, ‘<i>Renovare dolorem</i>! My family,’ +said he, ‘is, and has long been—ever since the Gunpowder +Plot—firmly, if not passionately, attached to the Church of England. +The Prince of Scalastro is a Catholic.’</p> +<p>‘Had we a closer acquaintance with the parties concerned!’ +murmured Logan.</p> +<p>‘You must come and visit us at Rookchester,’ said <!-- page 113--><span class="pagenum">p. 113</span>the +Earl. ‘In any case I am most anxious to know better one +whose ancestor was so closely connected with my own. We shall +examine my documents under the tuition of the lady you mentioned, Miss +Willoughby, if she will accept the hospitality of a kinsman.’</p> +<p>Logan murmured acquiescence, and again asked permission to consult +Merton, which was granted. The Earl then shook hands and departed, +obviously somewhat easier in his mind.</p> +<p>This remarkable conversation was duly reported by Logan to Merton.</p> +<p>‘What are we to do next?’ asked Logan.</p> +<p>‘Why you can do nothing but reconnoitre. Go down to Rookchester. +It is in Northumberland, on the Coquet—a pretty place, but there +is no fishing just now. Then we must ask Lord Embleton to meet +Miss Willoughby. The interview can be here: Miss Willoughby will +arrive, chaperoned by Miss Blossom, after the Earl makes his appearance.’</p> +<p>‘That will do, as far as his bothering old manuscripts are +concerned; but how about the real business—the two undesirable +marriages?’</p> +<p>‘We must first see how the land lies. I do not know any +of the lovers. What sort of fellow is Scremerston?’</p> +<p>‘Nothing remarkable about him—good, plucky, vain little +fellow. I suppose he wants money, like the rest of the world: +but his father won’t let him be a director of anything, though +he is in the House and his name would look well on a list.’</p> +<p>‘So he wants to marry dollars?’</p> +<p><!-- page 114--><span class="pagenum">p. 114</span>‘I suppose +he has no objection to them; but have you seen Miss Bangs?’</p> +<p>‘I don’t remember her,’ said Merton.</p> +<p>‘Then you have not seen her. She is beautiful, by Jove; +and, I fancy, clever and nice, and gives herself no airs.’</p> +<p>‘And she has all that money, and yet the old gentleman objects!’</p> +<p>‘He can not stand the bristles and lard,’ said Logan.</p> +<p>‘Then the Prince of Scalastro—him I have come across. +You would never take him for a foreigner,’ said Merton, bestowing +on the Royal youth the highest compliment which an Englishman can pay, +but adding, ‘only he is too intelligent and knows too much.’</p> +<p>‘No; there is nothing the matter with <i>him</i>,’ Logan +admitted—‘nothing but happening to inherit a gambling establishment +and the garden it stands in. He is a scientific character—a +scientific soldier. I wish we had a few like him.’</p> +<p>‘Well, it is a hard case,’ said Merton. ‘They +all seem to be very good sort of people. And Lady Alice Guevara? +I hardly know her at all; but she is pretty enough—tall, yellow +hair, brown eyes.’</p> +<p>‘And as good a girl as lives,’ added Logan. ‘Very +religious, too.’</p> +<p>‘She won’t change her creed?’ asked Merton.</p> +<p>‘She would go to the stake for it,’ said Logan. +‘She is more likely to convert the Prince.’</p> +<p>‘That would be one difficulty out of the way,’ said Merton. +‘But the gambling establishment? There <!-- page 115--><span class="pagenum">p. 115</span>is +the rub! And the usual plan won’t work. You are a +captivating person, Logan, but I do not think that you could attract +Lady Alice’s affections and disentangle her in that way. +Besides, the Prince would have you out. Then Miss Bangs’ +dollars, not to mention herself, must have too strong a hold on Scremerston. +It really looks too hard a case for us on paper. You must go down +and reconnoitre.’</p> +<p>Logan agreed, and wrote asking Lord Embleton to come to the office, +where he could see Miss Willoughby and arrange about her visit to him +and his manuscripts. The young lady was invited to arrive rather +later, bringing Miss Blossom as her companion.</p> +<p>On the appointed day Logan and Merton awaited Lord Embleton. +He entered with an air unwontedly buoyant, and was introduced to Merton. +The first result was an access of shyness. The Earl hummed, began +sentences, dropped them, and looked pathetically at Logan. Merton +understood. The Earl had taken to Logan (on account of their hereditary +partnership in an ancient iniquity), and it was obvious that he would +say to him what he would not say to his partner. Merton therefore +withdrew to the outer room (they had met in the inner), and the Earl +delivered himself to Logan in a little speech.</p> +<p>‘Since we met, Mr. Logan,’ said he, ‘a very fortunate +event has occurred. The Prince of Scalastro, in a private interview, +has done me the honour to take me into his confidence. He asked +my permission to pay his addresses to my daughter, and informed me that, +finding his ownership of the gambling establishment <!-- page 116--><span class="pagenum">p. 116</span>distasteful +to her, he had determined not to renew the lease to the company. +He added that since his boyhood, having been educated in Germany, he +had entertained scruples about the position which he would one day occupy, +that he had never entered the rooms (that haunt of vice), and that his +acquaintance with my daughter had greatly increased his objections to +gambling, though his scruples were not approved of by his confessor, +a very learned priest.’</p> +<p>‘That is curious,’ said Logan.</p> +<p>‘Very,’ said the Earl. ‘But as I expect the +Prince and his confessor at Rookchester, where I hope you will join +us, we may perhaps find out the reasons which actuate that no doubt +respectable person. In the meantime, as I would constrain nobody +in matters of religion, I informed the Prince that he had my permission +to—well, to plead his cause for himself with Lady Alice.’</p> +<p>Logan warmly congratulated the Earl on the gratifying resolve of +the Prince, and privately wondered how the young people would support +life, when deprived of the profits from the tables.</p> +<p>It was manifest, however, from the buoyant air of the Earl, that +this important question had never crossed his mind. He looked +quite young in the gladness of his heart, ‘he smelled April and +May,’ he was clad becomingly in summer raiment, and to Logan it +was quite a pleasure to see such a happy man. Some fifteen years +seemed to have been taken from the age of this buxom and simple-hearted +patrician.</p> +<p><!-- page 117--><span class="pagenum">p. 117</span>He began to discuss +with Logan all conceivable reasons why the Prince’s director had +rather discouraged his idea of closing the gambling-rooms for ever.</p> +<p>‘The Father, Father Riccoboni, is a Jesuit, Mr. Logan,’ +said the Earl gravely. ‘I would not be uncharitable, I hope +I am not prejudiced, but members of that community, I fear, often prefer +what they think the interests of their Church to those of our common +Christianity. A portion of the great wealth of the Scalastros +was annually devoted to masses for the souls of the players—about +fifteen per cent. I believe—who yearly shoot themselves in the +gardens of the establishment.’</p> +<p>‘No more suicides, no more subscriptions, I suppose,’ +said Logan; ‘but the practice proved that the reigning Princes +of Scalastro had feeling hearts.’</p> +<p>While the Earl developed this theme, Miss Willoughby, accompanied +by Miss Blossom, had joined Merton in the outer room. Miss Blossom, +being clad in white, with her blue eyes and apple-blossom complexion, +looked like the month of May. But Merton could not but be struck +by Miss Willoughby. She was tall and dark, with large grey eyes, +a Greek profile, and a brow which could, on occasion, be thunderous +and lowering, so that Miss Willoughby seemed to all a remarkably fine +young woman; while the educated spectator was involuntarily reminded +of the beautiful sister of the beautiful Helen, the celebrated Clytemnestra. +The young lady was clad in very dark blue, with orange points, so to +speak, and compared with her transcendent <!-- page 118--><span class="pagenum">p. 118</span>beauty, +Miss Blossom, as Logan afterwards remarked, seemed a</p> +<blockquote><p>‘Wee modest crimson-tippit beastie,’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>he intending to quote the poet Burns.</p> +<p>After salutations, Merton remarked to Miss Blossom that her well-known +discretion might prompt her to take a seat near the window while he +discussed private business with Miss Willoughby. The good-humoured +girl retired to contemplate life from the casement, while Merton rapidly +laid the nature of Lord Embleton’s affairs before the other lady.</p> +<p>‘You go down to Rookchester as a kinswoman and a guest, you +understand, and to do the business of the manuscripts.’</p> +<p>‘Oh, I shall rather like that than otherwise,’ said Miss +Willoughby, smiling.</p> +<p>‘Then, as to the regular business of the Society, there is +a Prince who seems to be thought unworthy of the daughter of the house; +and the son of the house needs disentangling from an American heiress +of great charm and wealth.’</p> +<p>‘The tasks might satisfy any ambition,’ said Miss Willoughby. +‘Is the idea that the Prince and the Viscount should <i>both</i> +neglect their former flames?’</p> +<p>‘And burn incense at the altar of Venus Verticordia,’ +said Merton, with a bow.</p> +<p>‘It is a large order,’ replied Miss Willoughby, in the +simple phrase of a commercial age: but as Merton looked at her, and +remembered the vindictive feeling with which she now regarded his sex, +he thought that she, if anyone, was capable of executing <!-- page 119--><span class="pagenum">p. 119</span>the +commission. He was not, of course, as yet aware of the moral resolution +lately arrived at by the young potentate of Scalastro.</p> +<p>‘The manuscripts are the first thing, of course,’ he +said, and, as he spoke, Logan and Lord Embleton re-entered the room.</p> +<p>Merton presented the Earl to the ladies, and Miss Blossom soon retired +to her own apartment, and wrestled with the correspondence of the Society +and with her typewriting-machine.</p> +<p>The Earl proved not to be nearly so shy where ladies were concerned. +He had not expected to find in his remote and long-lost cousin, Miss +Willoughby, a magnificent being like Persephone on a coin of Syracuse, +but it was plain that he was prepossessed in her favour, and there was +a touch of the affectionate in his courtesy. After congratulating +himself on recovering a kinswoman of a long-separated branch of his +family, and after a good deal of genealogical disquisition, he explained +the nature of the lady’s historical tasks, and engaged her to +visit him in the country at an early date. Miss Willoughby then +said farewell, having an engagement at the Record Office, where, as +the Earl gallantly observed, she would ‘make a sunshine in a shady +place.’</p> +<p>When she had gone, the Earl observed, ‘<i>Bon sang ne peut +pas mentir</i>! To think of that beautiful creature condemned +to waste her lovely eyes on faded ink and yellow papers! Why, +she is, as the modern poet says, “a sight to make an old man young.”’</p> +<p>He then asked Logan to acquaint Merton with <!-- page 120--><span class="pagenum">p. 120</span>the +new and favourable aspect of his affairs, and, after fixing Logan’s +visit to Rookchester for the same date as Miss Willoughby’s, he +went off with a juvenile alertness.</p> +<p>‘I say,’ said Logan, ‘I don’t know what will +come of this, but <i>something</i> will come of it. I had no idea +that girl was such a paragon.’</p> +<p>‘Take care, Logan,’ said Merton. ‘You ought +only to have eyes for Miss Markham.’</p> +<p>Miss Markham, the precise student may remember, was the lady once +known as the Venus of Milo to her young companions at St. Ursula’s. +Now mantles were draped on her stately shoulders at Madame Claudine’s, +and Logan and she were somewhat hopelessly attached to each other.</p> +<p>‘Take care of yourself at Rookchester,’ Merton went on, +‘or the Disentangler may be entangled.’</p> +<p>‘I am not a viscount and I am not an earl,’ said Logan, +with a reminiscence of an old popular song, ‘nor I am not a prince, +but a shade or two <i>wuss</i>; and I think that Miss Willoughby will +find other marks for the artillery of her eyes.’</p> +<p>‘We shall have news of it,’ said Merton.</p> +<h3>II. The Affair of the Jesuit</h3> +<p>Trains do not stop at the little Rookchester station except when +the high and puissant prince the Earl of Embleton or his visitors, or +his ministers, servants, solicitors, and agents of all kinds, are bound +for that haven. When Logan arrived at the station, a bowery, flowery, +amateur-looking depot, like one of the <!-- page 121--><span class="pagenum">p. 121</span>‘model +villages’ that we sometimes see off the stage, he was met by the +Earl, his son Lord Scremerston, and Miss Willoughby. Logan’s +baggage was spirited away by menials, who doubtless bore it to the house +in some ordinary conveyance, and by the vulgar road. But Lord +Embleton explained that as the evening was warm, and the woodland path +by the river was cool, they had walked down to welcome the coming guest.</p> +<p>The walk was beautiful indeed along the top of the precipitous red +sandstone cliffs, with the deep, dark pools of the Coquet sleeping far +below. Now and then a heron poised, or a rock pigeon flew by, +between the river and the cliff-top. The opposite bank was embowered +in deep green wood, and the place was very refreshing after the torrid +bricks and distressing odours of the July streets of London.</p> +<p>The path was narrow: there was room for only two abreast. Miss +Willoughby and Scremerston led the way, and were soon lost to sight +by a turn in the path. As for Lord Embleton, he certainly seemed +to have drunk of that fountain of youth about which the old French poet +Pontus de Tyard reports to us, and to be going back, not forward, in +age. He looked very neat, slim, and cool, but that could not be +the only cause of the miracle of rejuvenescence. Closely regarding +his host in profile, Logan remarked that he had shaved off his moustache +and the little, obsolete, iron-grey chin-tuft which, in moments of perplexity, +he had been wont to twiddle. Its loss was certainly a very great +improvement to the clean-cut features of this patrician.</p> +<p><!-- page 122--><span class="pagenum">p. 122</span>‘We are +a very small party,’ said Lord Embleton, ‘only the Prince, +my daughter, Father Riccoboni, Miss Willoughby, my sister, Scremerston, +and you and I. Miss Willoughby came last week. In the mornings +she and I are busy with the manuscripts. We have found most interesting +things. When their plot failed, your ancestor and mine prepared +a ship to start for the Western seas and attack the treasure-ships of +Spain. But peace broke out, and they never achieved that adventure. +Miss Willoughby is a cousin well worth discovering, so intelligent, +and so wonderfully attractive.’</p> +<p>‘So Scremerston seems to think,’ was Logan’s idea, +for the further he and the Earl advanced, the less, if possible, they +saw of the pair in front of them; indeed, neither was visible again +till the party met before dinner.</p> +<p>However, Logan only said that he had a great esteem for Miss Willoughby’s +courage and industry through the trying years of poverty since she left +St. Ursula’s.</p> +<p>‘The Prince we have not seen very much of,’ said the +Earl, ‘as is natural; for you will be glad to know that everything +seems most happily arranged, except so far as the religious difficulty +goes. As for Father Riccoboni, he is a quiet intelligent man, +who passes most of his time in the library, but makes himself very agreeable +at meals. And now here we are arrived.’</p> +<p>They had reached the south side of the house—an eighteenth-century +building in the red sandstone of the district, giving on a grassy terrace. +There the <!-- page 123--><span class="pagenum">p. 123</span>host’s +maiden sister, Lady Mary Guevara, was seated by a tea-table, surrounded +by dogs—two collies and an Aberdeenshire terrier. Beside +her were Father Riccoboni, with a newspaper in his hand, Lady Alice, +with whom Logan had already some acquaintance, and the Prince of Scalastro. +Logan was presented, and took quiet notes of the assembly, while the +usual chatter about the weather and his journey got itself transacted, +and the view of the valley of the Coquet had justice done to its charms.</p> +<p>Lady Mary was very like a feminine edition of the Earl, refined, +shy, and with silvery hair. Lady Alice was a pretty, quiet type +of the English girl who is not up to date, with a particularly happy +and winning expression. The Prince was of a Teutonic fairness; +for the Royal caste, whatever the nationality, is to a great extent +made in Germany, and retains the physical characteristics of that ancient +forest people whom the Roman historian (never having met them) so lovingly +idealised. The Prince was tall, well-proportioned, and looked +‘every inch a soldier.’ There were a great many inches.</p> +<p>As for Father Riccoboni, the learned have remarked that there are +two chief clerical types: the dark, ascetic type, to be found equally +among Unitarians, Baptists, Anglicans, Presbyterians, and Catholics, +and the burly, well-fed, genial type, which ‘cometh eating and +drinking.’ The Father was of this second kind; a lusty man—not +that you could call him a sensual-looking man, still less was he a noisy +humourist; but he had a considerable jowl, a strong jaw, a wide, firm +mouth, and large teeth, very white and <!-- page 124--><span class="pagenum">p. 124</span>square. +Logan thought that he, too, had the makings of a soldier, and also felt +almost certain that he had seen him before. But where?—for +Logan’s acquaintance with the clergy, especially the foreign clergy, +was not extensive. The Father spoke English very well, with a +slight German accent and a little hoarseness; his voice, too, did not +sound unfamiliar to Logan. But he delved in his subconscious memory +in vain; there was the Father, a man with whom he certainly had some +associations, yet he could not place the man.</p> +<p>A bell jangled somewhere without as they took tea and tattled; and, +looking towards the place whence the sound came, Logan saw a little +group of Italian musicians walking down the avenue which led through +the park to the east side of the house and the main entrance. +They entered, with many obeisances, through the old gate of floreated +wrought iron, and stopping there, about forty yards away, they piped, +while a girl, in the usual <i>contadina</i> dress, clashed her cymbals +and danced not ungracefully. The Father, who either did not like +music or did not like it of that sort, sighed, rose from his seat, and +went into the house by an open French window. The Prince also +rose, but he went forward to the group of Italians, and spoke to them +for a few minutes. If he did not like that sort of music, he took +the more excellent way, for the action of his elbow indicated a movement +of his hand towards his waistcoat-pocket. He returned to the party +on the terrace, and the itinerant artists, after more obeisances, walked +slowly back by the way they had come.</p> +<p><!-- page 125--><span class="pagenum">p. 125</span>‘They are +Genoese,’ said the Prince, ‘tramping north to Scotland for +the holiday season.’</p> +<p>‘They will meet strong competition from the pipers,’ +said Logan, while the Earl rose, and walked rapidly after the musicians.</p> +<p>‘I do not like the pipes myself,’ Logan went on, ‘but +when I hear them in a London street my heart does warm to the skirl +and the shabby tartans.’</p> +<p>‘I feel with you,’ said the Prince, ‘when I see +the smiling faces of these poor sons of the South among—well, +your English faces are not usually joyous—if one may venture to +be critical.’</p> +<p>He looked up, and, his eyes meeting those of Lady Alice, he had occasion +to learn that every rule has its exceptions. The young people +rose and wandered off on the lawn, while the Earl came back and said +that he had invited the foreigners to refresh themselves.</p> +<p>‘I saw Father Riccoboni in the hall, and asked him to speak +to them a little in their own lingo,’ he added, ‘though +he does not appear to be partial to the music of his native land.’</p> +<p>‘He seems to be of the Romansch districts,’ Logan said; +‘his accent is almost German.’</p> +<p>‘I daresay he will make himself understood,’ said the +Earl. ‘Do you understand this house, Mr. Logan? It +looks very modern, does it not?’</p> +<p>‘Early Georgian, surely?’ said Logan.</p> +<p>‘The shell, at least on this side, is early Georgian—I +rather regret it; but the interior, northward, except for the rooms +in front here, is of the good old times. We have secret stairs—not +that there is any secret about them—and odd cubicles, in the old +<!-- page 126--><span class="pagenum">p. 126</span>Border keep, which +was re-faced about 1750; and we have a priest’s hole or two, in +which Father Riccoboni might have been safe, but would have been very +uncomfortable, three hundred years ago. I can show you the places +to-morrow; indeed, we have very little in the way of amusement to offer +you. Do you fish?’</p> +<p>‘I always take a trout rod about with me, in case of the best,’ +said Logan, ‘but this is “soolky July,” you know, +and the trout usually seem sound asleep.’</p> +<p>‘Their habits are dissipated here,’ said Lord Embleton. +‘They begin to feed about ten o’clock at night. Did +you ever try night fishing with the bustard?’</p> +<p>‘The bustard?’ asked Logan.</p> +<p>‘It is a big fluffy fly, like a draggled mayfly, fished wet, +in the dark. I used to be fond of it, but age,’ sighed the +Earl, ‘and fear of rheumatism have separated the bustard and me.’</p> +<p>‘I should like to try it very much,’ said Logan. +‘I often fished Tweed and Whitadder, at night, when I was a boy, +but we used a small dark fly.’</p> +<p>‘You must be very careful if you fish at night here,’ +said Lady Mary. ‘It is so dark in the valley under the woods, +and the Coquet is so dangerous. The flat sandstone ledges are +like the floor of a room, and then a step may land you in water ten +feet deep, flowing in a narrow channel. I am always anxious when +anyone fishes here at night. You can swim?’</p> +<p>Logan confessed that he was not destitute of that accomplishment, +and that he liked, of all things, to be by a darkling river, where you +came across the <!-- page 127--><span class="pagenum">p. 127</span>night +side of nature in the way of birds, beasts, and fishes.</p> +<p>‘Mr. Logan can take very good care of himself, I am sure,’ +said Lord Embleton, ‘and Fenwick knows every inch of the water, +and will go with him. Fenwick is the water-keeper, Mr. Logan, +and represents man in the fishing and shooting stage. His one +thought is the destruction of animal life. He is a very happy +man.’</p> +<p>‘I never knew but one keeper who was not,’ said Logan. +‘That was in Galloway. He hated shooting, he hated fishing. +My impression is that he was what we call a “Stickit Minister.”’</p> +<p>‘Nothing of that about Fenwick,’ said the Earl. +‘I daresay you would like to see your room?’</p> +<p>Thither Logan was conducted, through a hall hung with pikes, and +guns, and bows, and clubs from the South Seas, and Zulu shields and +assegais, while a few empty figures in tilting armour, lance in hand, +stood on pedestals. Thence up a broad staircase, along a little +gallery, up a few steps of an old ‘turnpike’ staircase, +Logan reached his room, which looked down through the trees of the cliff +to the Coquet.</p> +<p>Dinner passed in the silver light of the long northern day, that +threw strange blue reflections, softer than sapphire, on the ancient +plate—the ambassadorial plate of a Jacobean ancestor.</p> +<p>‘It should all have gone to the melting-pot for King Charles’s +service,’ said the Earl, with a sigh, ‘but my ancestor of +that day stood for the Parliament.’</p> +<p>Logan’s position at dinner was better for observation than +for entertainment. He sat on the right hand <!-- page 128--><span class="pagenum">p. 128</span>of +Lady Mary, where the Prince ought to have been seated, but Lady Alice +sat on her father’s left, and next her, of course, the Prince. +‘Love rules the camp, the court, the grove,’ and Love deranged +the accustomed order, for the Prince sat between Lady Alice and Logan. +Opposite Logan, and at Lady Mary’s left, was the Jesuit, and next +him, Scremerston, beside whom was Miss Willoughby, on the Earl’s +right. Inevitably the conversation of the Prince and Lady Alice +was mainly directed to each other—so much so that Logan did not +once perceive the princely eyes attracted to Miss Willoughby opposite +to him, though it was not easy for another to look at anyone else. +Logan, in the pauses of his rather conventional entertainment by Lady +Mary, <i>did</i> look, and he was amazed no less by the beauty than +by the spirits and gaiety of the young lady so recently left forlorn +by the recreant Jephson. This flower of the Record Office and +of the British Museum was obviously not destined to blush unseen any +longer. She manifestly dazzled Scremerston, who seemed to remember +Miss Bangs, her charms, and her dollars no more than Miss Willoughby +appeared to remember the treacherous Don.</p> +<p>Scremerston was very unlike his father: he was a small, rather fair +man, with a slight moustache, a close-clipped beard, and little grey +eyes with pink lids. His health was not good: he had been invalided +home from the Imperial Yeomanry, after a slight wound and a dangerous +attack of enteric fever, and he had secured a pair for the rest of the +Session. He was not very clever, but he certainly laughed sufficiently +<!-- page 129--><span class="pagenum">p. 129</span>at what Miss Willoughby +said, who also managed to entertain the Earl with great dexterity and +<i>aplomb</i>. Meanwhile Logan and the Jesuit amused the excellent +Lady Mary as best they might, which was not saying much. Lady +Mary, though extremely amiable, was far from brilliant, and never having +met a Jesuit before, she regarded Father Riccoboni with a certain hereditary +horror, as an animal of a rare species, and, of habits perhaps startling +and certainly perfidious. However, the lady was philanthropic +in a rural way, and Father Riccoboni enlightened her as to the reasons +why his enterprising countrymen leave their smiling land, and open small +ice-shops in little English towns, or, less ambitious, invest their +slender capital in a monkey and a barrel-organ.</p> +<p>‘I don’t so very much mind barrel-organs myself,’ +said Logan; ‘I don’t know anything prettier than to see +the little girls dancing to the music in a London side street.’</p> +<p>‘But do not the musicians all belong to that dreadful Camorra?’ +asked the lady.</p> +<p>‘Not if they come from the North, madam,’ said the Jesuit. +‘And do not all your Irish reapers belong to that dreadful Land +League, or whatever it is called?’</p> +<p>‘They are all Pap---’ said Lady Mary, who then stopped, +blushed, and said, with some presence of mind, ‘paupers, I fear, +but they are quite safe and well-behaved on this side of the Irish Channel.’</p> +<p>‘And so are our poor people,’ said the Jesuit. +‘If they occasionally use the knife a little—<i>naturam +expellas furca</i>, Mr. Logan, but the knife is a different <!-- page 130--><span class="pagenum">p. 130</span>thing—it +is only in a homely war among themselves that they handle it in the +East-end of London.’</p> +<p>‘<i>Cœlum non animum</i>,’ said Logan, determined +not to be outdone in classical felicities; and, indeed, he thought his +own quotation the more appropriate.</p> +<p>At this moment a great silvery-grey Persian cat, which had sat hitherto +in a stereotyped Egyptian attitude on the arm of the Earl’s chair, +leaped down and sprang affectionately on the shoulder of the Jesuit. +He shuddered strongly and obviously repressed an exclamation with difficulty, +as he gently removed the cat.</p> +<p>‘Fie, Meriamoun!’ said the Earl, as the puss resumed +her Egyptian pose beside him. ‘Shall I send the animal out +of the room? I know some people cannot endure a cat,’ and +he mentioned the gallant Field Marshal who is commonly supposed to share +this infirmity.</p> +<p>‘By no means, my lord,’ said the Jesuit, who looked strangely +pale. ‘Cats have an extraordinary instinct for caressing +people who happen to be born with exactly the opposite instinct. +I am like the man in Aristotle who was afraid of the cat.’</p> +<p>‘I wish we knew more about that man,’ said Miss Willoughby, +who was stroking Meriamoun. ‘Are <i>you</i> afraid of cats, +Lord Scremerston?—but you, I suppose, are afraid of nothing.’</p> +<p>‘I am terribly afraid of all manner of flying things that buzz +and bite,’ said Scremerston.</p> +<p>‘Except bullets,’ said Miss Willoughby—Beauty rewarding +Valour with a smile and a glance so dazzling that the good little Yeoman +blushed with pleasure.</p> +<p><!-- page 131--><span class="pagenum">p. 131</span>‘It is a +shame!’ thought Logan. ‘I don’t like it now +I see it.’</p> +<p>‘As to horror of cats,’ said the Earl, ‘I suppose +evolution can explain it. I wonder how they would work it out +in <i>Science Jottings</i>. There is a great deal of electricity +in a cat.’</p> +<p>‘Evolution can explain everything,’ said the Jesuit demurely, +‘but who can explain evolution?’</p> +<p>‘As to electricity in the cat,’ said Logan, ‘I +daresay there is as much in the dog, only everybody has tried stroking +a cat in the dark to see the sparks fly, and who ever tried stroking +a dog in the dark, for experimental purposes?—did you, Lady Mary?’</p> +<p>Lady Mary never had tried, but the idea was new to her, and she would +make the experiment in winter.</p> +<p>‘Deer skins, stroked, do sparkle,’ said Logan, ‘I +read that in a book. I daresay horses do, only nobody tries. +I don’t think electricity is the explanation of why some people +can’t bear cats.’</p> +<p>‘Electricity is the modern explanation of everything—love, +faith, everything,’ remarked the Jesuit; ‘but, as I said, +who shall explain electricity?’</p> +<p>Lady Mary, recognising the orthodoxy of these sentiments, felt more +friendly towards Father Riccoboni. He might be a Jesuit, but he +was <i>bien pensant</i>.</p> +<p>‘What I am afraid of is not a cat, but a mouse,’ said +Miss Willoughby, and the two other ladies admitted that their own terrors +were of the same kind.</p> +<p>‘What I am afraid of,’ said the Prince, ‘is a banging +door, by day or night. I am not, otherwise, of a nervous constitution, +but if I hear a door bang, I <!-- page 132--><span class="pagenum">p. 132</span><i>must</i> +go and hunt for it, and stop the noise, either by shutting the door, +or leaving it wide open. I am a sound sleeper, but, if a door +bangs, it wakens me at once. I try not to notice it. I hope +it will leave off. Then it does leave off—that is the artfulness +of it—and, just as you are falling asleep, <i>knock</i> it goes! +A double knock, sometimes. Then I simply <i>must</i> get up, and +hunt for that door, upstairs or downstairs—’</p> +<p>‘Or in my—’ interrupted Miss Willoughby, and stopped, +thinking better of it, and not finishing the quotation, which passed +unheard.</p> +<p>‘That research has taken me into some odd places,’ the +Prince ended; and Logan reminded the Society of the Bravest of the Brave. +What <i>he</i> was afraid of was a pair of tight boots.</p> +<p>These innocent conversations ended, and, after dinner, the company +walked about or sat beneath the stars in the fragrant evening air, the +Earl seated by Miss Willoughby, Scremerston smoking with Logan; while +the white dress of Lady Alice flitted ghost-like on the lawn, and the +tip of the Prince’s cigar burned red in the neighbourhood. +In the drawing-room Lady Mary was tentatively conversing with the Jesuit, +that mild but probably dangerous animal. She had the curiosity +which pious maiden ladies feel about the member of a community which +they only know through novels. Certainly this Jesuit was very +unlike Aramis.</p> +<p>‘And who <i>is</i> he like?’ Logan happened to +be asking Scremerston at that moment. ‘I know the face—I +know the voice; hang it!—where have I seen the man?’</p> +<p><!-- page 133--><span class="pagenum">p. 133</span>‘Now you +mention it,’ said Scremerston, ‘<i>I</i> seem to remember +him too. But I can’t place him. What do you think +of a game of billiards, father?’ he asked, rising and addressing +Lord Embleton. ‘Rosamond—Miss Willoughby, I mean—’</p> +<p>‘Oh, we are cousins, Lord Embleton says, and you may call me +Rosamond. I have never had any cousins before,’ interrupted +the young lady.</p> +<p>‘Rosamond,’ said Scremerston, with a gulp, ‘is +getting on wonderfully well for a beginner.’</p> +<p>‘Then let us proceed with her education: it is growing chilly, +too,’ said the Earl; and they all went to billiards, the Jesuit +marking with much attention and precision. Later he took a cue, +and was easily the master of every man there, though better acquainted, +he said, with the foreign game. The late Pope used to play, he +said, nearly as well as Mr. Herbert Spencer. Even for a beginner, +Miss Willoughby was not a brilliant player; but she did not cut the +cloth, and her arms were remarkably beautiful—an excellent but +an extremely rare thing in woman. She was rewarded, finally, by +a choice between bedroom candles lit and offered by her younger and +her elder cousins, and, after a momentary hesitation, accepted that +of the Earl.</p> +<p>‘How is this going to end?’ thought Logan, when he was +alone. ‘Miss Bangs is out of the running, that is certain: +millions of dollars cannot bring her near Miss Willoughby with Scremerston. +The old gentleman ought to like that—it relieves him from the +bacon and lard, and the dollars, and the associations with a Straddle; +and then Miss Willoughby’s <!-- page 134--><span class="pagenum">p. 134</span>family +is all right, but the girl is reckless. A demon has entered into +her: she used to be so quiet. I’d rather marry Miss Bangs +without the dollars. Then it is all very well for Scremerston +to yield to Venus Verticordia, and transfer his heart to this new enchantress. +But, if I am not mistaken, the Earl himself is much more kind than kin. +The heart has no age, and he is a very well-preserved peer. You +might take him for little more than forty, though he quite looked his +years when I saw him first. Well, <i>I</i> am safe enough, in +spite of Merton’s warning: this new Helen has no eyes for me, +and the Prince has no eyes for her, I think. But who is the Jesuit?’</p> +<p>Logan fought with his memory till he fell asleep, but he recovered +no gleam of recollection about the holy man.</p> +<p>It did not seem to Logan, next day, that he was in for a very lively +holiday. His host carried off Miss Willoughby to the muniment-room +after breakfast; that was an advantage he had over Scremerston, who +was decidedly restless and ill at ease. He took Logan to see the +keeper, and they talked about fish and examined local flies, and Logan +arranged to go and try the trout with the bustard some night; and then +they pottered about, and ate cherries in the garden, and finally the +Earl found them half asleep in the smoking-room. He routed the +Jesuit out of the library, where he was absorbed in a folio containing +the works of the sainted Father Parsons, and then the Earl showed Logan +and Father Riccoboni over the house. From a window of the gallery +Scremerston <!-- page 135--><span class="pagenum">p. 135</span>could +be descried playing croquet with Miss Willoughby, an apparition radiant +in white.</p> +<p>The house was chiefly remarkable for queer passages, which, beginning +from the roof of the old tower, above the Father’s chamber, radiated +about, emerging in unexpected places. The priests’ holes +had offered to the persecuted clergy of old times the choice between +being grilled erect behind a chimney, or of lying flat in a chamber +about the size of a coffin near the roof, where the martyr Jesuits lived +on suction, like the snipe, absorbing soup from a long straw passed +through a wall into a neighbouring garret.</p> +<p>‘Those were cruel times,’ said Father Riccoboni, who +presently, at luncheon, showed that he could thoroughly appreciate the +tender mercies of the present or Christian era. Logan watched +him, and once when, something that interested him being said, the Father +swept the table with his glance without raising his head, a memory for +a fraction of a moment seemed to float towards the surface of Logan’s +consciousness. Even as when an angler, having hooked a salmon, +a monster of the stream, long the fish bores down impetuous, seeking +the sunken rocks, disdainful of the steel, and the dark wave conceals +him; then anon is beheld a gleam of silver, and again is lost to view, +and the heart of the man rejoices—even so fugitive a glimpse had +Logan of what he sought in the depths of memory. But it fled, +and still he was puzzled.</p> +<p>Logan loafed out after luncheon to a seat on the lawn in the shade +of a tree. They were all to be <!-- page 136--><span class="pagenum">p. 136</span>driven +over to an Abbey not very far away, for, indeed, in July, there is little +for a man to do in the country. Logan sat and mused. Looking +up he saw Miss Willoughby approaching, twirling an open parasol on her +shoulder. Her face was radiant; of old it had often looked as +if it might be stormy, as if there were thunder behind those dark eyebrows. +Logan rose, but the lady sat down on the garden seat, and he followed +her example.</p> +<p>‘This is better than Bloomsbury, Mr. Logan, and cocoa <i>pour +tout potage</i>: singed cocoa usually.’</p> +<p>‘The <i>potage</i> here is certainly all that heart can wish,’ +said Logan.</p> +<p>‘The chrysalis,’ said Miss Willoughby, ‘in its +wildest moments never dreamed of being a butterfly, as the man said +in the sermon; and I feel like a butterfly that remembers being a chrysalis. +Look at me now!’</p> +<p>‘I could look for ever,’ said Logan, ‘like the +sportsman in Keats’s <i>Grecian Urn</i>: “For ever let me +look, and thou be fair!”’</p> +<p>‘I am so sorry for people in town,’ said Miss Willoughby. +‘Don’t you wish dear old Milo was here?’</p> +<p>Milo was the affectionate nickname—a tribute to her charms—borne +by Miss Markham at St. Ursula’s.</p> +<p>‘How can I wish that anyone was here but you?’ asked +Logan. ‘But, indeed, as to her being here, I should like +to know in what capacity she was a guest.’</p> +<p>The Clytemnestra glance came into Miss Willoughby’s grey eyes +for a moment, but she was not to be put out of humour.</p> +<p><!-- page 137--><span class="pagenum">p. 137</span>‘To be here +as a kinswoman, and an historian, with a maid—fancy me with a +maid!—and everything handsome about me, is sufficiently excellent +for me, Mr. Logan; and if it were otherwise, do you disapprove of the +proceedings of your own Society? But there is Lord Scremerston +calling to us, and a four-in-hand waiting at the door. And I am +to sit on the box-seat. Oh, this is better than the dingy old +Record Office all day.’</p> +<p>With these words Miss Willoughby tripped over the sod as lightly +as the Fairy Queen, and Logan slowly followed. No; he did <i>not</i> +approve of the proceedings of his Society as exemplified by Miss Willoughby, +and he was nearly guilty of falling asleep during the drive to Winderby +Abbey. Scremerston was not much more genial, for his father was +driving and conversing very gaily with his fair kinswoman.</p> +<p>‘Talk about a distant cousin!’ thought Logan, who in +fact felt ill-treated. However deep in love a man may be, he does +not like to see a fair lady conspicuously much more interested in other +members of his sex than in himself.</p> +<p>The Abbey was a beautiful ruin, and Father Riccoboni did not conceal +from Lady Mary the melancholy emotions with which it inspired him.</p> +<p>‘When shall our prayers be heard?’ he murmured. +‘When shall England return to her Mother’s bosom?’</p> +<p>Lady Mary said nothing, but privately trusted that the winds would +disperse the orisons of which the Father spoke. Perhaps nuns had +been bricked up in these innocent-looking mossy walls, thought Lady +Mary, whose ideas on this matter were derived from <!-- page 138--><span class="pagenum">p. 138</span>a +scene in the poem of <i>Marmion</i>. And deep in Lady Mary’s +heart was a half-formed wish that, if there was to be any bricking up, +Miss Willoughby might be the interesting victim. Unlike her brother +the Earl, she was all for the Bangs alliance.</p> +<p>Scremerston took the reins on the homeward way, the Earl being rather +fatigued; and, after dinner, <i>two</i> white robes flitted ghost-like +on the lawn, and the light which burned red beside one of them was the +cigar-tip of Scremerston. The Earl had fallen asleep in the drawing-room, +and Logan took a lonely stroll, much regretting that he had come to +a house where he felt decidedly ‘out of it.’ He wandered +down to the river, and stood watching. He was beside the dark-brown +water in the latest twilight, beside a long pool with a boat moored +on the near bank. He sat down in the boat pensively, and then—what +was that? It was the sound of a heavy trout rising. ‘<i>Plop</i>, +<i>plop</i>!’ They were feeding all round him.</p> +<p>‘By Jove! I’ll try the bustard to-morrow night, +and then I’ll go back to town next day,’ thought Logan. +‘I am doing no good here, and I don’t like it. I shall +tell Merton that I have moral objections to the whole affair. +Miserable, mercenary fraud!’ Thus, feeling very moral and +discontented, Logan walked back to the house, carefully avoiding the +ghostly robes that still glimmered on the lawn, and did not re-enter +the house till bedtime.</p> +<p>The following day began as the last had done; Lord Embleton and Miss +Willoughby retiring to the muniment-room, the lovers vanishing among +the walks. Scremerston later took Logan to consult <!-- page 139--><span class="pagenum">p. 139</span>Fenwick, +who visibly brightened at the idea of night-fishing.</p> +<p>‘You must take one of those long landing-nets, Logan,’ +said Scremerston. ‘They are about as tall as yourself, and +as stout as lance-shafts. They are for steadying you when you +wade, and feeling the depth of the water in front of you.’</p> +<p>Scremerston seemed very pensive. The day was hot; they wandered +to the smoking-room. Scremerston took up a novel, which he did +not read; Logan began a letter to Merton—a gloomy epistle.</p> +<p>‘I say, Logan,’ suddenly said Scremerston, ‘if +your letter is not very important, I wish you would listen to me for +a moment.’</p> +<p>Logan turned round. ‘Fire away,’ he said; ‘my +letter can wait.’</p> +<p>Scremerston was in an attitude of deep dejection. Logan lit +a cigarette and waited.</p> +<p>‘Logan, I am the most miserable beggar alive.’</p> +<p>‘What is the matter? You seem rather in-and-out in your +moods,’ said Logan.</p> +<p>‘Why, you know, I am in a regular tight place. I don’t +know how to put it. You see, I can’t help thinking that—that—I +have rather committed myself—it seems a beastly conceited thing +to say—that there’s a girl who likes me, I’m afraid.’</p> +<p>‘I don’t want to be inquisitive, but is she in this country?’ +asked Logan.</p> +<p>‘No; she’s at Homburg.’</p> +<p>‘Has it gone very far? Have you <i>said</i> anything?’ +asked Logan.</p> +<p>‘No; my father did not like it. I hoped to bring him +round.’</p> +<p><!-- page 140--><span class="pagenum">p. 140</span>‘Have you +<i>written</i> anything? Do you correspond?’</p> +<p>‘No, but I’m afraid I have <i>looked</i> a lot.’</p> +<p>As the Viscount Scremerston’s eyes were by no means fitted +to express with magnetic force the language of the affections, Logan +had to command his smile.</p> +<p>‘But why have you changed your mind, if you liked her?’ +he asked.</p> +<p>‘Oh, <i>you</i> know very well! Can anybody see her and +not love her?’ said Scremerston, with a vagueness in his pronouns, +but referring to Miss Willoughby.</p> +<p>Logan was inclined to reply that he could furnish, at first hand, +an exception to the rule, but this appeared tactless.</p> +<p>‘No one, I daresay, whose affections were not already engaged, +could see her without loving her; but I thought yours had been engaged +to a lady now at Homburg?’</p> +<p>‘So did I,’ said the wretched Scremerston, ‘but +I was mistaken. Oh, Logan, you don’t know the difference! +<i>This</i> is genuine biz,’ remarked the afflicted nobleman with +much simplicity. He went on: ‘Then there’s my father—you +know him. He was against the other affair, but, if he thinks I +have committed myself and then want to back out, why, with his ideas, +he’d rather see me dead. But I can’t go on with the +other thing now: I simply can <i>not</i>. I’ve a good mind +to go out after rabbits, and pot myself crawling through a hedge.’</p> +<p>‘Oh, nonsense!’ said Logan; ‘that is stale and +superfluous. For all that I can see, there is no harm done. +The young lady, depend upon it, won’t break <!-- page 141--><span class="pagenum">p. 141</span>her +heart. As a matter of fact, they don’t—<i>we</i> do. +You have only to sit tight. You are no more committed than I am. +You would only make both of you wretched if you went and committed yourself +now, when you don’t want to do it. In your position I would +certainly sit tight: don’t commit yourself—either here or +there, so to speak; or, if you can’t sit tight, make a bolt for +it. Go to Norway. I am very strongly of opinion that the +second plan is the best. But, anyhow, keep up your pecker. +You are all right—I give you my word that I think you are all +right.’</p> +<p>‘Thanks, old cock,’ said Scremerston. ‘Sorry +to have bored you, but I <i>had</i> to speak to somebody.’</p> +<p>* * * * * *</p> +<p>‘Best thing you could do,’ said Logan. ‘You’ll +feel ever so much better. That kind of worry comes of keeping +things to oneself, till molehills look mountains. If you like +I’ll go with you to Norway myself.’</p> +<p>‘Thanks, awfully,’ said Scremerston, but he did not seem +very keen. Poor little Scremerston!</p> +<p>Logan ‘breasted the brae’ from the riverside to the house. +His wading-boots were heavy, for he had twice got in over the tops thereof; +heavy was his basket that Fenwick carried behind him, but light was +Logan’s heart, for the bustard had slain its dozens of good trout. +He and the keeper emerged from the wood on the level of the lawn. +All the great mass of the house lay dark before them. Logan was +to let himself in by the locked French window; for it was very late—about +two in the morning. <!-- page 142--><span class="pagenum">p. 142</span>He +had the key of the window-door in his pocket. A light moved through +the long gallery: he saw it pass each window and vanish. There +was dead silence: not a leaf stirred. Then there rang out a pistol-shot, +or was it two pistol-shots? Logan ran for the window, his rod, +which he had taken down after fishing, in his hand.</p> +<p>‘Hurry to the back door, Fenwick!’ he said; and Fenwick, +throwing down the creel, but grasping the long landing-net, flew to +the back way. Logan opened the drawing-room window, took out his +matchbox, with trembling ringers lit a candle, and, with the candle +in one hand, the rod in the other, sped through the hall, and along +a back passage leading to the gunroom. He had caught a glimpse +of the Earl running down the main staircase, and had guessed that the +trouble was on the ground floor. As he reached the end of the +long dark passage, Fenwick leaped in by the back entrance, of which +the door was open. What Logan saw was a writhing group—the +Prince of Scalastro struggling in the arms of three men: a long white +heap lay crumpled in a corner. Fenwick, at this moment, threw +the landing-net over the head of one of the Prince’s assailants, +and with a twist, held the man half choked and powerless. Fenwick +went on twisting, and, with the leverage of the long shaft of the net, +dragged the wretch off the Prince, and threw him down. Another +of the men turned on Logan with a loud guttural oath, and was raising +a pistol. Logan knew the voice at last—knew the Jesuit now. +‘<i>Rien ne va plus</i>!’ he cried, and lunged, with all +the force and speed of an expert fencer, at <!-- page 143--><span class="pagenum">p. 143</span>the +fellow’s face with the point of the rod. The metal joints +clicked and crashed through the man’s mouth, his pistol dropped, +and he staggered, cursing through his blood, against the wall. +Logan picked up the revolver as the Prince, whose hands were now free, +floored the third of his assailants with an upper cut. Logan thrust +the revolver into the Prince’s hand. ‘Keep them quiet +with that,’ he said, and ran to where the Earl, who had entered +unseen in the struggle, was kneeling above the long, white, crumpled +heap.</p> +<p>It was Scremerston, dead, in his night dress: poor plucky little +Scremerston.</p> +<p>* * * * * *</p> +<p>Afterwards, before the trial, the Prince told Logan how matters had +befallen. ‘I was wakened,’ he said—‘you +were very late, you know, and we had all gone to bed—I was wakened +by a banging door. If you remember, I told you all, on the night +of your arrival at Rookchester, how I hated that sound. I tried +not to think of it, and was falling asleep when it banged again—a +double knock. I was nearly asleep, when it clashed again. +There was no wind, my window was open and I looked out: I only heard +the river murmuring and the whistle of a passing train. The stillness +made the abominable recurrent noise more extraordinary. I dressed +in a moment in my smoking-clothes, lit a candle, and went out of my +room, listening. I walked along the gallery—’</p> +<p>‘It was your candle that I saw as I crossed the lawn,’ +said Logan.</p> +<p>‘When a door opened,’ the Prince went on—‘the +<!-- page 144--><span class="pagenum">p. 144</span>door of one of the +rooms on the landing—and a figure, all in white,—it was +Scremerston,—emerged and disappeared down the stairs. I +followed at the top of my speed. I heard a shot, or rather two +pistols that rang out together like one. I ran through the hall +into the long back passage at right-angles to it, down the passage to +the glimmer of light through the partly glazed door at the end of it. +Then my candle was blown out and three men set on me. They had +nearly pinioned me when you and Fenwick took them on both flanks. +You know the rest. They had the boat unmoored, a light cart ready +on the other side, and a steam-yacht lying off Warkworth. The +object, of course, was to kidnap me, and coerce or torture me into renewing +the lease of the tables at Scalastro. Poor Scremerston, who was +a few seconds ahead of me, not carrying a candle, had fired in the dark, +and missed. The answering fire, which was simultaneous, killed +him. The shots saved me, for they brought you and Fenwick to the +rescue. Two of the fellows whom we damaged were—’</p> +<p>‘The Genoese pipers, of course,’ said Logan.</p> +<p>‘And you guessed, from the cry you gave, who my confessor (<i>he</i> +banged the door, of course to draw me) turned out to be?’</p> +<p>‘Yes, the head croupier at Scalastro years ago; but he wore +a beard and blue spectacles in the old time, when he raked in a good +deal of my patrimony,’ said Logan. ‘But how was he +planted on <i>you</i>?’</p> +<p>‘My old friend, Father Costa, had died, and it is too long +a tale of forgery and fraud to tell you how this wretch was forced on +me. He <i>had</i> been a Jesuit, <!-- page 145--><span class="pagenum">p. 145</span>but +was unfrocked and expelled from Society for all sorts of namable and +unnamable offences. His community believed that he was dead. +So he fell to the profession in which you saw him, and, when the gambling +company saw that I was disinclined to let that hell burn any longer +on my rock, ingenious treachery did the rest.’</p> +<p>‘By Jove!’ said Logan.</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>The Prince of Scalastro, impoverished by his own generous impulse, +now holds high rank in the Japanese service. His beautiful wife +is much admired in Yokohama.</p> +<p>The Earl was nursed through the long and dangerous illness which +followed the shock of that dreadful July night, by the unwearying assiduity +of his kinswoman, Miss Willoughby. On his recovery, the bride +(for the Earl won her heart and hand) who stood by him at the altar +looked fainter and more ghostly than the bridegroom. But her dark +hour of levity was passed and over. There is no more affectionate +pair than the Earl and Countess of Embleton. Lady Mary, who lives +with them, is once more an aunt, and spoils, it is to be feared, the +young Viscount Scremerston, a fine but mischievous little boy. +On the fate of the ex-Jesuit we do not dwell: enough to say that his +punishment was decreed by the laws of our country, not of that which +he had disgraced.</p> +<p>The manuscripts of the Earl have been edited by him and the Countess +for the Roxburghe Club.</p> +<h2><!-- page 146--><span class="pagenum">p. 146</span>VIII. THE +ADVENTURE OF THE LADY PATRONESS</h2> +<p>‘I cannot bring myself to refuse my assent. It would +break the dear child’s heart. She has never cared for anyone +else, and, oh, she is quite wrapped up in him. I have heard of +your wonderful cures, Mr. Merton, I mean successes, in cases which everyone +has given up, and though it seems a very strange step to me, I thought +that I ought to shrink from no remedy’—</p> +<p>‘However unconventional,’ said Merton, smiling. +He felt rather as if he were being treated like a quack doctor, to whom +people (if foolish enough) appeal only as the last desperate resource.</p> +<p>The lady who filled, and amply filled, the client’s chair, +Mrs. Malory, of Upwold in Yorkshire, was a widow, obviously, a widow +indeed. ‘In weed’ was an unworthy <i>calembour</i> +which flashed through Merton’s mind, since Mrs. Malory’s +undying regret for her lord (a most estimable man for a coal owner) +was explicitly declared, or rather was blazoned abroad, in her costume. +Mrs. Mallory, in fact, was what is derisively styled ‘Early Victorian’—‘Middle’ +would have been, historically, more accurate. Her religion was +mildly Evangelical; she had been brought up on the <!-- page 147--><span class="pagenum">p. 147</span>Memoirs +of the Fairchild Family, by Mrs. Sherwood, tempered by Miss Yonge and +the Waverley Novels. On these principles she had trained her family. +The result was that her sons had not yet brought the family library, +and the family Romneys and Hoppners, to Christie’s. Not +one of them was a director of any company, and the name of Malory had +not yet been distinguished by decorating the annals of the Courts of +Bankruptcy or of Divorce. In short, a family more deplorably not +‘up to date,’ and more ‘out of the swim’ could +scarcely be found in England.</p> +<p>Such, and of such connections, was the lady, fair, faded, with mildly +aquiline features, and an aspect at once distinguished and dowdy, who +appealed to Merton. She sought him in what she, at least, regarded +as the interests of her eldest daughter, an heiress under the will of +a maternal uncle. Merton had met the young lady, who looked like +a portrait of her mother in youth. He knew that Miss Malory, now +‘wrapped up in’ her betrothed lover, would, in a few years, +be equally absorbed in ‘her boys.’ She was pretty, +blonde, dull, good, and cast by Providence for the part of one of the +best of mothers, and the despair of what man soever happened to sit +next her at a dinner party. Such women are the safeguards of society—though +sneered at by the frivolous as ‘British Matrons.’</p> +<p>‘I have laid the case before the—where I always take +my troubles,’ said Mrs. Malory, ‘and I have not felt restrained +from coming to consult you. When I permitted my daughter’s +engagement (of course after carefully examining the young man’s +worldly position) <!-- page 148--><span class="pagenum">p. 148</span>I +was not aware of what I know now. Matilda met him at a visit to +some neighbours—he really is very attractive, and very attentive—and +it was not till we came to London for the season that I heard the stories +about him. Some of them have been pointed out to me, in print, +in the dreadful French newspapers, others came to me in anonymous letters. +As far as a mother may, I tried to warn Matilda, but there are subjects +on which one can hardly speak to a girl. The Vidame, in fact,’ +said Mrs. Malory, blushing, ‘is celebrated—I should say +infamous—both in France and Italy, Poland too, as what they call +<i>un homme aux bonnes fortunes</i>. He has caused the break-up +of several families. Mr. Merton, he is a rake,’ whispered +the lady, in some confusion.</p> +<p>‘He is still young; he may reform,’ said Merton, ‘and +no doubt a pure affection will be the saving of him.’</p> +<p>‘So Matilda believes, but, though a Protestant—his ancestors +having left France after the Revocation of the Edict of Nancy—Nantes +I mean—I am certain that he is <i>not</i> under conviction.’</p> +<p>‘Why does he call himself Vidame, “the Vidame de la Lain”?’ +asked Merton.</p> +<p>‘It is an affectation,’ said Mrs. Malory. ‘None +of his family used the title in England, but he has been much on the +Continent, and has lands in France; and, I suppose, has romantic ideas. +He is as much French as English, more I am afraid. The wickedness +of that country! And I fear it has affected ours. Even now—I +am not a scandal-monger, and I hope for the best—but even last +winter he was talked about,’ Mrs. <!-- page 149--><span class="pagenum">p. 149</span>Malory +dropped her voice, ‘with a lady whose husband is in America, Mrs. +Brown-Smith.’</p> +<p>‘A lady for whom I have the very highest esteem,’ said +Merton, for, indeed, Mrs. Brown-Smith was one of his references or Lady +Patronesses; he knew her well, and had a respect for her character, +<i>au fond</i>, as well as an admiration for her charms.</p> +<p>‘You console me indeed,’ said Mrs. Malory. ‘I +had heard—’</p> +<p>‘People talk a great deal of ill-natured nonsense,’ said +Merton warmly. ‘Do you know Mrs. Brown-Smith?’</p> +<p>‘We have met, but we are not in the same set; we have exchanged +visits, but that is all.’</p> +<p>‘Ah!’ said Merton thoughtfully. He remembered that +when his enterprise was founded Mrs. Brown-Smith had kindly offered +her practical services, and that he had declined them for the moment. +‘Mrs. Malory,’ he went on, after thinking awhile, ‘may +I take your case into my consideration—the marriage is not till +October, you say, we are in June—and I may ask for a later interview? +Of course you shall be made fully aware of every detail, and nothing +shall be done without your approval. In fact all will depend on +your own co-operation. I don’t deny that there may be distasteful +things, but if you are quite sure about this gentleman’s—’</p> +<p>‘Character?’ said Mrs. Malory. ‘I am <i>so</i> +sure that it has cost me many a wakeful hour. You will earn my +warmest gratitude if you can do anything.’</p> +<p>‘Almost everything will depend on your own energy, and tolerance +of our measures.’</p> +<p><!-- page 150--><span class="pagenum">p. 150</span>‘But we +must not do evil that good may come,’ said Mrs. Malory nervously.</p> +<p>‘No evil is contemplated,’ said Merton. But Mrs. +Malory, while consenting, so far, did not seem quite certain that her +estimate of ‘evil’ and Merton’s would be identical.</p> +<p>She had suffered poignantly, as may be supposed, before she set the +training of a lifetime aside, and consulted a professional expert. +But the urbanity and patience of Merton, with the high and unblemished +reputation of his Association, consoled her. ‘We must yield +where we innocently may,’ she assured herself, ‘to the changes +of the times. Lest one good order’ (and ah, how good the +Early Victorian order had been!) ‘should corrupt the world.’ +Mrs. Malory knew that line of poetry. Then she remembered that +Mrs. Brown-Smith was on the list of Merton’s references, and that +reassured her, more or less.</p> +<p>As for Merton, he evolved a plan in his mind, and consulted Bradshaw’s +invaluable Railway Guide.</p> +<p>On the following night Merton was fortunate or adroit enough to find +himself seated beside Mrs. Brown-Smith in a conservatory at a party +given by the Montenegrin Ambassador. Other occupants of the fairy-like +bower of blossoms, musical with all the singing of the innumerable fountains, +could not but know (however preoccupied) that Mrs. Brown-Smith was being +amused. Her laughter ‘rang merry and loud,’ as the +poet says, though not a word of her whispered conversation was audible. +Conservatories (in novels) are dangerous places for confidences, but +<!-- page 151--><span class="pagenum">p. 151</span>the pale and angry +face of Miss Malory did <i>not</i> suddenly emerge from behind a grove +of gardenias, and startle the conspirators. Indeed, Miss Malory +was not present; she and her sister had no great share in the elegant +frivolities of the metropolis.</p> +<p>‘It all fits in beautifully,’ said Mrs. Brown-Smith. +‘Just let me look at the page of Bradshaw again.’ +Merton handed to her a page of closely printed matter. ‘9.17 +P.M., 9.50 P.M.’ read Mrs. Brown-Smith aloud; ‘it gives +plenty of time in case of delays. Oh, this is too delicious! +You are sure that these trains won’t be altered. It might +be awkward.’</p> +<p>‘I consulted Anson,’ said Merton. Anson was famous +for his mastery of time-tables, and his prescience as to railway arrangements.</p> +<p>‘Of course it depends on the widow,’ said Mrs. Brown-Smith, +‘I shall see that Johnnie is up to time. He hopes to undersell +the opposition soap’ (Mr. Brown-Smith was absent in America, in +the interests of that soap of his which is familiar to all), ‘and +he is in the best of humours. Then their grouse! We have +disease on our moors in Perthshire; I was in despair. But the +widow needs delicate handling.’</p> +<p>‘You won’t forget—I know how busy you are—her +cards for your party?’</p> +<p>‘They shall be posted before I sleep the sleep of conscious +innocence.’</p> +<p>‘And real benevolence,’ said Merton.</p> +<p>‘And revenge,’ added Mrs. Brown-Smith. ‘I +have heard of his bragging, the monster. He has talked about <i>me</i>. +And I remember how he treated Violet Lebas.’</p> +<p><!-- page 152--><span class="pagenum">p. 152</span>At this moment +the Vidame de la Lain, a tall, fair young man, vastly too elegant, appeared, +and claimed Mrs. Brown-Smith for a dance. With a look at Merton, +and a sound which, from less perfect lips, might have been described +as a suppressed giggle, Mrs. Brown-Smith rose, then turning, ‘Post +the page to me, Mr. Merton,’ she said. Merton bowed, and, +folding up the page of the time-table, he consigned it to his cigarette +case.</p> +<p>* * * * * *</p> +<p>Mrs. Malory received, with a blending of emotions, the invitation +to the party of Mrs. Brown-Smith. The social popularity and the +wealth of the hostess made such invitations acceptable. But the +wealth arose from trade, in soap, not in coal, and coal (like the colza +bean) is ‘a product of the soil,’ the result of creative +forces which, in the geological past, have worked together for the good +of landed families. Soap, on the other hand, is the result of +human artifice, and is certainly advertised with more of emphasis and +of ingenuity than of delicacy. But, by her own line of descent, +Mrs. Brown-Smith came from a Scottish house of ancient standing, historically +renowned for its assassins, traitors, and time-servers. This partly +washed out the stain of soap. Again, Mrs. Malory had heard the +name of Mrs. Brown-Smith taken in vain, and that in a matter nearly +affecting her Matilda’s happiness. On the other side, Merton +had given the lady a valuable testimonial to character. Moreover, +the Vidame would be at her party, and Mrs. Malory told herself that +she could study the ground. Above all, the girls <!-- page 153--><span class="pagenum">p. 153</span>were +so anxious to go: they seldom had such a chance. Therefore, while +the Early Victorian moralist hesitated, the mother accepted.</p> +<p>They were all glad that they went. Susan, the younger Miss +Malory, enjoyed herself extremely. Matilda danced with the Vidame +as often as her mother approved. The conduct of Mrs. Brown-Smith +was correctness itself. She endeared herself to the girls: invited +them to her place in Perthshire, and warmly congratulated Mrs. Malory +on the event approaching in her family. The eye of maternal suspicion +could detect nothing amiss. Thanks mainly to Mrs. Brown-Smith, +the girls found the season an earthly Paradise: and Mrs. Malory saw +much more of the world than she had ever done before. But she +remained vigilant, and on the alert. Before the end of July she +had even conceived the idea of inviting Mrs. Brown-Smith, fatigued by +her toils, to inhale the bracing air of Upwold in the moors. But +she first consulted Merton, who expressed his warm approval.</p> +<p>‘It is dangerous, though she has been so kind,’ sighed +Mrs. Malory. ‘I have observed nothing to justify the talk +which I have heard, but I am in doubt.’</p> +<p>‘Dangerous! it is safety,’ said Merton.</p> +<p>‘How?’</p> +<p>Merton braced himself for the most delicate and perilous part of +his enterprise.</p> +<p>‘The Vidame de la Lain will be staying with you?’</p> +<p>‘Naturally,’ said Mrs. Malory. ‘And if there +<i>is</i> any truth in what was whispered—’</p> +<p><!-- page 154--><span class="pagenum">p. 154</span>‘He will +be subject to temptation,’ said Merton.</p> +<p>‘Mrs. Brown-Smith is so pretty and so amusing, and dear Matilda; +she takes after my dear husband’s family, though the best of girls, +Matilda has not that flashing manner.’</p> +<p>‘But surely no such thing as temptation should exist for a +man so fortunate as de la Lain! And if it did, would his conduct +not confirm what you have heard, and open the eyes of Miss Malory?’</p> +<p>‘It seems so odd to be discussing such things with—so +young a man as you—not even a relation,’ sighed Mrs. Malory.</p> +<p>‘I can withdraw at once,’ said Merton.</p> +<p>‘Oh no, please don’t speak of that! I am not really +at all happy yet about my daughter’s future.’</p> +<p>‘Well, suppose the worst by way of argument; suppose that you +saw, that Miss Malory saw—’</p> +<p>‘Matilda has always refused to see or to listen, and has spoken +of the reforming effects of a pure affection. She would be hard, +indeed, to convince that anything was wrong, but, once certain—I +know Matilda’s character—she would never forgive the insult, +never.’</p> +<p>‘And you would rather that she suffered some present distress?’</p> +<p>‘Than that she was tied for life to a man who could cause it? +Certainly I would.’</p> +<p>‘Then, Mrs. Malory, as it <i>is</i> awkward to discuss these +intimate matters with me, might I suggest that you should have an interview +with Mrs. Brown-Smith herself? I assure you that you can trust +her, and I happen to know that her view of the man about <!-- page 155--><span class="pagenum">p. 155</span>whom +we are talking is exactly your own. More I could say as to her +reasons and motives, but we entirely decline to touch on the past or +to offer any opinion about the characters of our patients—the +persons about whose engagements we are consulted. He might have +murdered his grandmother or robbed a church, but my lips would be sealed.’</p> +<p>‘Do you not think that Mrs. Brown-Smith would be very much +surprised if I consulted her?’</p> +<p>‘I know that she takes a sincere interest in Miss Malory, and +that her advice would be excellent—though perhaps rather startling,’ +said Merton.</p> +<p>‘I dislike it very much. The world has altered terribly +since I was Matilda’s age,’ said Mrs. Malory; ‘but +I should never forgive myself if I neglected any precaution, and I shall +take your advice. I shall consult Mrs. Brown-Smith.’</p> +<p>Merton thus retreated from what even he regarded as a difficult and +delicate affair. He fell back on his reserves; and Mrs. Brown-Smith +later gave an account of what passed between herself and the representative +of an earlier age:</p> +<p>‘She first, when she had invited me to her dreary place, explained +that we ought not, she feared, to lead others into temptation. +“If you think that man, de la Lain’s temptation is to drag +my father’s name, and my husband’s, in the dust,” +I answered, “let me tell you that <i>I</i> have a temptation also.”</p> +<p>‘“Dear Mrs. Brown-Smith,” she answered, “this +is indeed honourable candour. Not for the world would I be the +occasion—”</p> +<p>‘I interrupted her, “<i>My</i> temptation is to make +<!-- page 156--><span class="pagenum">p. 156</span>him the laughing +stock of his acquaintance, and, if he has the impudence to give me the +opportunity, I <i>will</i>!” And then I told her, without +names, of course, that story about this Vidame Potter and Violet Lebas.’</p> +<p>‘I did <i>not</i>,’ said Merton. ‘But why +Vidame Potter?’</p> +<p>‘His father was a Mr. Potter; his grandfather married a Miss +Lalain—I know all about it—and this creature has wormed +out, or invented, some story of a Vidameship, or whatever it is, hereditary +in the female line, and has taken the title. And this is the man +who has had the impertinence to talk about <i>me</i>, a Ker of Graden.’</p> +<p>‘But did not the story you speak of make her see that she must +break off her daughter’s engagement?’</p> +<p>‘No. She was very much distressed, but said that her +daughter Matilda would never believe it.’</p> +<p>‘And so you are to go to Upwold?’</p> +<p>‘Yes, it is a mournful place; I never did anything so good-natured. +And, with the widow’s knowledge, I am to do as I please till the +girl’s eyes are opened. I think it will need that stratagem +we spoke of to open them.’</p> +<p>‘You are sure that you will be in no danger from evil tongues?’</p> +<p>‘They say, What say they? Let them say,’ answered +Mrs. Brown-Smith, quoting the motto of the Keiths.</p> +<p>The end of July found Mrs. Brown-Smith at Upwold, where it is to +be hoped that the bracing <!-- page 157--><span class="pagenum">p. 157</span>qualities +of the atmosphere made up for the want of congenial society. Susan +Malory had been discreetly sent away on a visit. None of the men +of the family had arrived. There was a party of local neighbours, +who did not feel the want of anything to do, but lived in dread of flushing +the Vidame and Matilda out of a window seat whenever they entered a +room.</p> +<p>As for the Vidame, being destitute of all other entertainment, he +made love in a devoted manner.</p> +<p>But at dinner, after Mrs. Brown-Smith’s arrival, though he +sat next Matilda, Mrs. Malory saw that his eyes were mainly bent on +the lady opposite. The ping-pong of conversation, even, was played +between him and Mrs. Brown-Smith across the table: the county neighbours +were quite lost in their endeavours to follow the flight of the ball. +Though the drawing-room window, after dinner, was open on the fragrant +lawn, though Matilda sat close by it, in her wonted place, the Vidame +was hanging over the chair of the visitor, and later, played billiards +with her, a game at which Matilda did not excel. At family prayers +next morning (the service was conducted by Mrs. Malory) the Vidame appeared +with a white rosebud in his buttonhole, Mrs. Brown-Smith wearing its +twin sister. He took her to the stream in the park where she fished, +Matilda following in a drooping manner. The Vidame was much occupied +in extracting the flies from the hair of Mrs. Brown-Smith, in which +they were frequently entangled. After luncheon he drove with the +two ladies and Mrs. Malory to the country town, the usual resource of +ladies in the country, and though he sat next Matilda, Mrs. Brown-Smith +was <!-- page 158--><span class="pagenum">p. 158</span>beaming opposite, +and the pair did most of the talking. While Mrs. Malory and her +daughter shopped, it was the Vidame who took Mrs. Brown-Smith to inspect +the ruins of the Abbey. The county neighbours had left in the +morning, a new set arrived, and while Matilda had to entertain them, +it was Mrs Brown-Smith whom the Vidame entertained.</p> +<p>This kind of thing went on; when Matilda was visiting her cottagers +it was the Vidame and Mrs. Brown-Smith whom visitors flushed in window +seats. They wondered that Mrs. Malory had asked so dangerous a +woman to the house: they marvelled that she seemed quite radiant and +devoted to her lively visitor. There was a school feast: it was +the Vidame who arranged hurdle-races for children of both sexes (so +improper!), and who started the competitors.</p> +<p>Meanwhile Mrs. Malory, so unusually genial in public, held frequent +conventicles with Matilda in private. But Matilda declined to +be jealous; they were only old friends, she said, these flagitious two; +Dear Anne (that was the Vidame’s Christian name) was all that +she could wish.</p> +<p>‘You know the place is <i>so</i> dull, mother,’ the brave +girl said. ‘Even grandmamma, who was a saint, says so in +her <i>Domestic Outpourings</i>’ (religious memoirs privately +printed in 1838). ‘We cannot amuse Mrs. Brown-Smith, and +it is so kind and chivalrous of Anne.’</p> +<p>‘To neglect you?’</p> +<p>‘No, to do duty for Tom and Dick,’ who were her brothers, +and who would not greatly have entertained the fair visitor had they +been present.</p> +<p><!-- page 159--><span class="pagenum">p. 159</span>Matilda was the +kind of woman whom we all adore as represented in the characters of +Fielding’s Amelia and Sophia. Such she was, so gracious +and yielding, in her overt demeanour, but, alas, poor Matilda’s +pillow was often wet with her tears. She was loyal; she would +not believe evil: she crushed her natural jealousy ‘as a vice +of blood, upon the threshold of the mind.’</p> +<p>Mrs. Brown-Smith was nearly as unhappy as the girl. The more +she hated the Vidame—and she detested him more deeply every day—the +more her heart bled for Matilda. Mrs. Brown-Smith also had her +secret conferences with Mrs. Malory.</p> +<p>‘Nothing will shake her belief in that man,’ said Mrs. +Malory.</p> +<p>‘Your daughter is the best girl I ever met,’ said Mrs. +Brown-Smith. ‘The best tempered, the least suspicious, the +most loyal. And I am doing my worst to make her hate me. +Oh, I can’t go on!’ Here Mrs. Brown-Smith very greatly +surprised her hostess by bursting into tears.</p> +<p>‘You must not desert us now,’ said the elder lady. +‘The better you think of poor Matilda—and she <i>is</i> +a good girl—the more you ought to help her.’</p> +<p>It was the 8th of August, no other visitors were at the house, a +shooting party was expected to arrive on the 11th. Mrs. Brown-Smith +dried her tears. ‘It must be done,’ she said, ‘though +it makes me sick to think of it.’</p> +<p>Next day she met the Vidame in the park, and afterwards held a long +conversation with Mrs. Malory. <!-- page 160--><span class="pagenum">p. 160</span>As +for the Vidame, he was in feverish high spirits, he devoted himself +to Matilda, in fact Mrs. Brown-Smith had insisted on such dissimulation, +as absolutely necessary at this juncture of affairs. So Matilda +bloomed again, like a rose that had been ‘washed, just washed, +in a shower.’ The Vidame went about humming the airs of +the country which he had honoured by adopting it as the cradle of his +ancestry.</p> +<p>On the morning of the following day, while the Vidame strayed with +Matilda in the park, Mrs. Brown-Smith was closeted with Mrs. Malory +in her boudoir.</p> +<p>‘Everything is arranged,’ said Mrs. Brown-Smith. +‘I, guilty and reckless that I am, have only to sacrifice my character, +and all my things. But I am to retain Methven, my maid. +That concession I have won from his chivalry.’</p> +<p>‘How do you mean?’ asked Mrs. Malory.</p> +<p>‘At seven he will get a telegram summoning him to Paris on +urgent business. He will leave in your station brougham in time +to catch the 9.50 up train at Wilkington. Or, rather, so impatient +is he, he will leave half an hour too early, for fear of accidental +delays. I and my maid will accompany him. I have thought +honesty the best policy, and told the truth, like Bismarck, “and +the same,”’ said Mrs. Brown-Smith hysterically, ‘“with +intent to deceive.” I have pointed out to him that my best +plan is to pretend to you that I am going to meet my husband, who really +arrives at Wilkington from Liverpool by the 9.17, though the Vidame +thinks that is an invention of mine. So, you <!-- page 161--><span class="pagenum">p. 161</span>see, +I leave without any secrecy, or fuss, or luggage, and, when my husband +comes here, he will find me flown, and will have to console himself +with my luggage and jewels. He—this Frenchified beast, I +mean—has written a note for your daughter, which he will give +to her maid, and, of course, the maid will hand it to <i>you</i>. +So he will have burned his boats. And then you can show it to +Matilda, and so,’ said Mrs. Brown-Smith, ‘the miracle of +opening her eyes will be worked. Johnnie, my husband, and I will +be hungry when we return about half-past ten. And I think you +had better telegraph that there is whooping cough, or bubonic plague, +or something in the house, and put off your shooting party.’</p> +<p>‘But that would be an untruth,’ said Mrs. Malory.</p> +<p>‘And what have I been acting for the last ten days?’ +asked Mrs. Brown-Smith, rather tartly. ‘You must settle +your excuse with your conscience.’</p> +<p>‘The cook’s mother really is ill,’ said Mrs. Malory, +‘and she wants dreadfully to go and see her. That would +do.’</p> +<p>‘All things work together for good. The cook must have +a telegram also,’ said Mrs. Brown-Smith.</p> +<p>The day, which had been extremely hot, clouded over. By five +it was raining: by six there was a deluge. At seven, Matilda and +the Vidame were evicted from their dusky window seat by the butler with +a damp telegraph envelope. The Vidame opened it, and handed it +to Matilda. His presence at Paris was instantly demanded. +The Vidame was desolated, but his absence could not be for more than +five days. Bradshaw was hunted for, and found: the <!-- page 162--><span class="pagenum">p. 162</span>9.50 +train was opportune. The Vidame’s man packed his clothes. +Mrs. Brown-Smith was apprised of these occurrences in the drawing-room +before dinner.</p> +<p>‘I am very sorry for dear Matilda,’ she cried. +‘But it is an ill wind that blows nobody good. I will drive +over with the Vidame and astonish my Johnnie by greeting him at the +station. I must run and change my dress.’</p> +<p>She ran, she returned in morning costume, she heard from Mrs. Malory +of the summons by telegram calling the cook to her moribund mother. +‘I must send her over to the station in a dog-cart,’ said +Mrs. Malory.</p> +<p>‘Oh no,’ cried Mrs. Brown-Smith, with impetuous kindness, +‘not on a night like this; it is a cataclysm. There will +be plenty of room for the cook as well as for Methven and me, and the +Vidame, in the brougham. Or <i>he</i> can sit on the box.’</p> +<p>The Vidame really behaved very well. The introduction of the +cook, to quote an old novelist, ‘had formed no part of his profligate +scheme of pleasure.’ To elope from a hospitable roof, with +a married lady, accompanied by her maid, might be an act not without +precedent. But that a cook should come to form <i>une partie carrée</i>, +on such an occasion, that a lover should be squeezed with three women +in a brougham, was a trying novelty.</p> +<p>The Vidame smiled, ‘An artist so excellent,’ he said, +‘deserves a far greater sacrifice.’</p> +<p>So it was arranged. After a tender and solitary five minutes +with Matilda, the Vidame stepped, last, into the brougham. The +coachman whipped up the horses, Matilda waved her kerchief from the +porch, <!-- page 163--><span class="pagenum">p. 163</span>the guilty +lovers drove away. Presently Mrs. Malory received, from her daughter’s +maid, the letter destined by the Vidame for Matilda. Mrs. Malory +locked it up in her despatch box.</p> +<p>The runaways, after a warm and uncomfortable drive of three-quarters +of an hour, during which the cook wept bitterly and was very unwell, +reached the station. Contrary to the Vidame’s wish, Mrs. +Brown-Smith, in an ulster and a veil, insisted on perambulating the +platform, buying the whole of Mr. Hall Caine’s works as far as +they exist in sixpenny editions. Bells rang, porters stationed +themselves in a line, like fielders, a train arrived, the 9.17 from +Liverpool, twenty minutes late. A short stout gentleman emerged +from a smoking carriage, Mrs. Brown-Smith, starting from the Vidame’s +side, raised her veil, and threw her arms round the neck of the traveller.</p> +<p>‘You didn’t expect <i>me</i> to meet you on such a night, +did you, Johnnie?’ she cried with a break in her voice.</p> +<p>‘Awfully glad to see you, Tiny,’ said the short gentleman. +‘On such a night!’</p> +<p>After thus unconsciously quoting the <i>Merchant of Venice</i>, Mr. +Brown-Smith turned to his valet. ‘Don’t forget the +fishing-rods,’ he said.</p> +<p>‘I took the opportunity of driving over with a gentleman from +Upwold,’ said Mrs. Brown-Smith. ‘Let me introduce +him. Methven,’ to her maid, ‘where is the Vidame de +la Lain?’</p> +<p>‘I heard him say that he must help Mrs. Andrews, the cook, +to find a seat, Ma’am,’ said the maid.</p> +<p>‘He really <i>is</i> kind,’ said Mrs. Brown-Smith, ‘but +I fear we can’t wait to say good-bye to him.’</p> +<p><!-- page 164--><span class="pagenum">p. 164</span>Three-quarters +of an hour later, Mr. Brown-Smith and his wife were at supper at Upwold.</p> +<p>Next day, as the cook’s departure had postponed the shooting +party, they took leave of their hostess, and returned to their moors +in Perthshire.</p> +<p>Weeks passed, with no message from the Vidame. He did not answer +a letter which Mrs. Malory allowed Matilda to write. The mother +never showed to the girl the note which he had left with her maid. +The absence and the silence of the lover were enough. Matilda +never knew that among the four packed in the brougham on that night +of rain, one had been eloping with a married lady—who returned +to supper.</p> +<p>The papers were ‘requested to state that the marriage announced +between the Vidame de la Lain and Miss Malory will not take place.’ +Why it did not take place was known only to Mrs. Malory, Mrs. Brown-Smith, +and Merton.</p> +<p>Matilda thought that her lover had been kidnapped and arrested, by +the Secret Police of France, for his part in a scheme to restore the +Royal House, the White Flag, the Lilies, the children of St. Louis. +At Mrs. Brown-Smith’s place in Perthshire, in the following autumn, +Matilda met Sir Aylmer Jardine. Then she knew that what she had +taken for love (in the previous year) had been,</p> +<blockquote><p>‘Not love, but love’s first flush in youth.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>They always do make that discovery, bless them! Lady Jardine +is now wrapped up in her baby boy. The mother of the cook recovered +her health.</p> +<h2><!-- page 165--><span class="pagenum">p. 165</span>IX. ADVENTURE +OF THE LADY NOVELIST AND THE VACCINATIONIST</h2> +<p>‘Mr. Frederick Warren’—so Merton read the card +presented to him on a salver of Limoges enamel by the office-boy.</p> +<p>‘Show the gentleman in.’</p> +<p>Mr. Warren entered. He was a tall and portly person, with a +red face, red whiskers, and a tightly buttoned frock-coat, which more +expressed than hid his goodly and prominent proportions. He bowed, +and Merton invited him to be seated. It struck Merton as a singular +circumstance that his visitor wore on each arm the crimson badge of +the newly vaccinated.</p> +<p>Mr. Warren sat down, and, taking a red silk handkerchief out of the +crown of his hat, he wiped his countenance. The day was torrid, +and Mr. Merton hospitably offered an effervescent draught.</p> +<p>‘Without the whisky, if you please, sir,’ said Mr. Warren, +in a provincial accent. He pointed to a blue ribbon in the buttonhole +of his coat, indicating that he was conscientiously opposed to the use +of alcoholic refreshment in all its forms.</p> +<p>‘Two glasses of Apollinaris water,’ said Merton to the +office-boy; and the innocent fluid was brought, <!-- page 166--><span class="pagenum">p. 166</span>while +Merton silently admired his client’s arrangement in blue and crimson. +When the thirst of that gentleman had been assuaged, he entered upon +business thus:</p> +<p>‘Sir, I am a man of principle!’</p> +<p>Merton congratulated him; the age was lax, he said, and principle +was needed. He wondered internally what he was going to be asked +to subscribe to, or whether his vote only was required.</p> +<p>‘Sir, have you been vaccinated?’ asked the client earnestly.</p> +<p>‘Really,’ said Merton, ‘I do not quite understand +your interest in a matter so purely personal.’</p> +<p>‘Personal, sir? Not at all. It is the first of +public duties—the debt that every man, woman, and child owes to +his or her country. Have you been vaccinated, sir?’</p> +<p>‘Why, if you insist on knowing,’ said Merton, ‘I +have, though I do not see—’</p> +<p>‘Recently?’ asked the visitor.</p> +<p>‘Yes, last month; but I cannot conjecture why—’</p> +<p>‘Enough, sir,’ said Mr. Warren. ‘I am a man +of principle. Had you not done your duty in this matter by your +country, I should have been compelled to seek some other practitioner +in your line.’</p> +<p>‘I was not aware that my firm had any competitors in our line +of business,’ said Merton. ‘But perhaps you have come +here under some misapprehension. There is a firm of family solicitors +on the floor above, and next them are the offices of a company interested +in a patent explosive. If your affairs, or your political <!-- page 167--><span class="pagenum">p. 167</span>ideas, +demand a legal opinion, or an outlet in an explosive which is widely +recommended by the Continental Press—’</p> +<p>‘For what do you take me, sir?’ asked Mr. Warren.</p> +<p>‘For a Temperance Anarchist,’ Merton would have liked +to reply, ‘judging by your colours’; but he repressed this +retort, and mildly answered, ‘Perhaps it would be as much to the +purpose to ask, for what do you take <i>me</i>?’</p> +<p>‘For the representative of Messrs. Gray & Graham, the specialists +in matrimonial affairs,’ answered the client; and Merton said +that he would be happy if Mr. Warren would enter into the details of +his business.</p> +<p>‘I am the ex-Mayor of Bulcester,’ said Mr. Warren, ‘and, +as I told you, a man of principle. My attachment to the Temperance +cause’—and he fingered his blue ribbon—‘procured +for me the honour of a defeat at the last general election, but endeared +me to the consciences of the Nonconformist element in the constituency. +Yet, sir, I am at this moment the most unpopular man in Bulcester; but +I shall fight it out—I shall fight it to my latest breath.’</p> +<p>‘Is Bulcester, then, such an intemperate constituency? +I had understood that the Nonconformist interest was strong there,’ +said Merton.</p> +<p>‘So it is, sir, so it is; but the interest is now bound to +the chariot wheels of the truckling Toryism of our time—to the +sycophants who basely made vaccination permissive, and paltered with +the Conscientious Objector. These badges, sir’—the +client pointed to his own crimson decorations—‘proclaim +that I have been vaccinated on <i>both</i> arms, as a testimony <!-- page 168--><span class="pagenum">p. 168</span>to +the immortal though, in Bulcester, maligned discovery of the great Jenner. +Sir, I am hooted in the public streets of my native town, where Anti-vaccinationism +is a frenzy. Mr. Rider Haggard, the author of <i>Dr. Therne</i>, +has been burned in effigy for his thrilling and manly protest to which +I owe my own conversion.’</p> +<p>‘Then the conversion is relatively recent?’ asked Merton.</p> +<p>‘It dates since my reading of that powerful argument, sir; +that appeal to reason which overcame my prejudice, for I was a prominent +A. V.’</p> +<p>‘<i>Ave</i>?’ asked Merton.</p> +<p>‘A. V., sir—Anti-Vaccinationist. A. C. D. A. too, +and always,’ he added proudly; but Merton did not think it prudent +to ask for further explanations.</p> +<p>‘An A. V. I was, an A. V. I am no longer; and I +defy popular clamour, accompanied by brickbats, to shake my principles.’</p> +<p>‘<i>Justum et tinacem propositi virum</i>,’ murmured +Merton, adding, ‘All that is very interesting, but, my dear sir, +while I admire the tenacity of your principles, will you permit me to +ask, what has vaccination to do with the special business of our firm?’</p> +<p>‘Why, sir, I have a family, and my eldest son—’</p> +<p>‘Does he decline to be vaccinated?’ asked Merton, in +a sympathetic voice.</p> +<p>‘No, sir, or he would never darken my doorway,’ exclaimed +this more than Roman father. ‘But he is engaged, and I can +never give my consent; and if he marries that girl, the firm ceases +to be “Warren & Son, wax-cloth manufacturers.” +That’s all, sir—that’s all.’</p> +<p><!-- page 169--><span class="pagenum">p. 169</span>Mr. Warren again +applied his red handkerchief to his glowing features.</p> +<p>‘And what, may I ask, are the grounds of your objection to +this engagement? Social inequality?’ asked Merton.</p> +<p>‘No, the young lady is the daughter of one of our leading ministers, +Mr. Truman—author of <i>The Bishops to the Block</i>—but +principles are concerned.’</p> +<p>‘You cannot mean that the young lady is excessively addicted +to the—wine cup?’ asked Merton gravely. ‘In +melancholy cases of that kind Mr. Hall Caine, in a romance, has recommended +hypnotic treatment, but we do not venture to interfere.’</p> +<p>‘You misunderstand me, sir,’ replied Mr. Warren, frowning. +‘The young woman, on principle, as they call it, has never been +vaccinated. Like most of our prominent citizens, her father (otherwise +an excellent man) objects to what he calls “The Worship of the +Calf” on grounds of conscience.’</p> +<p>‘Conscience! It is a hard thing to constrain the conscience,’ +murmured Merton, quoting a remark of Queen Mary to John Knox.</p> +<p>‘What is conscience without knowledge, sir?’ asked the +client, using—without knowing it—the very argument of Mr. +Knox to the Queen.</p> +<p>‘You have no other objections to the alliance?’ asked +Merton.</p> +<p>‘None whatever, sir. She is a good and good-looking girl. +On most important points we are thoroughly agreed. She won a prize +essay on Bacon’s authorship of Shakespeare’s plays. +Of course Shakespeare could not have written them—a thoroughly +uneducated <!-- page 170--><span class="pagenum">p. 170</span>man, who +never could have passed the fourth standard. But look at the plays! +There are things in them that, with all our modern advantages, are beyond +me. I admit they are beyond me. “To be, and to do, +and to suffer,”’ declaimed Mr. Warren, apparently under +the impression that this is part of Hamlet’s soliloquy—‘Shakespeare +could never have written <i>that</i>. Where did <i>he</i> learn +grammar?’</p> +<p>‘Where, indeed?’ replied Merton. ‘But as +the lady is in all other respects so suitable a match, cannot this one +difficulty be got over?’</p> +<p>‘Impossible, sir; my son could not slice the sleeve in her +dress and inflict this priceless boon on her with affectionate violence. +Even the hero of <i>Dr. Therne</i> failed there—’</p> +<p>‘And rather irritated his pretty Jane,’ added Merton, +who remembered this heroic adventure. ‘It is a very hard +case,’ he went on, ‘but I fear that our methods are powerless. +The only chance would be to divert young Mr. Warren’s affections +into some other more enlightened channel. That expedient has often +been found efficacious. Is he very deeply enamoured? Would +not the society of another pretty and intelligent girl perhaps work +wonders?’</p> +<p>‘Perhaps it might, sir, but I don’t know where to find +any one that would attract my James. Except for political meetings, +and a literary lecture or two, with a magic-lantern and a piano, we +have not much social relaxation at Bulcester. We object to promiscuous +dancing, on grounds of conscience. Also, of course, to the stage.’</p> +<p>‘Ah, so you <i>do</i> allow for the claims of conscience, do +you?’</p> +<p><!-- page 171--><span class="pagenum">p. 171</span>‘For what +do you take me, sir? Only, of course the conscience must be enlightened,’ +said Mr. Warren, as other earnest people usually do.</p> +<p>‘Certainly, certainly,’ said Merton; ‘nothing so +dangerous as the unenlightened conscience. Why, in this very matter +of marriage the conscience of the Mormons leads them to singular aberrations, +while that of the Arunta tribe—but I should only pain you if I +pursued the subject. You said that your Society indulged in literary +lectures: is your programme for the season filled up?’</p> +<p>‘I am President of the Bulcester Literary Society,’ said +Mr. Warren, ‘and I ought to know. We have a vacancy for +Friday week; but why do you inquire? In fact I want a lecturer +on “The Use and Abuse of Novels,” now you ask. Our +people, somehow, always want their literary lectures to be about novels. +I try to make the lecturers take a lofty moral tone, and usually entertain +them at my house, where I probe their ideas, and warn them that we must +have nothing loose. Once, sir, we had a lecturer on “The +Oldest Novel in the World.” He gave us a terrible shock, +sir! I never saw so many red cheeks in a Bulcester audience. +And the man seemed quite unaware of the effect he was producing.’</p> +<p>‘Short-sighted, perhaps?’ said Merton.</p> +<p>‘Ever since we have been very careful. But, sir, we seem +to have got away from the subject.’</p> +<p>‘It is only seeming,’ said Merton. ‘I have +an idea which may be of service to you.’</p> +<p>‘Thank you, most kindly,’ said Mr. Warren. ‘But +as how?’</p> +<p><!-- page 172--><span class="pagenum">p. 172</span>‘Does your +Society ever employ lady lecturers?’</p> +<p>‘We prefer them; we are all for enlarging the sphere of woman’s +activity—virtuous activity, I mean.’</p> +<p>‘That is fortunate,’ remarked Merton. ‘You +said just now that to try the plan of a counter-attraction was difficult, +because there was little of social relaxation in your Society, and you +knew no lady who had the opportunities necessary for presenting an agreeable +alternative to the charms of Miss Truman. A young man’s +fancy is often caught merely by the juxtaposition of a single member +of the opposite sex, with whom he contracts a custom of walking home +from chapel.’</p> +<p>‘That’s mostly the way at Bulcester,’ said Mr. +Warren.</p> +<p>‘Well,’ Merton went on, ‘you are in the habit of +entertaining the lecturers at your house. Now, I know a young +lady—one of our staff, in fact—who is very well qualified +to lecture on “The Use and Abuse of Novels.” She is +a novelist herself; one of the most serious and improving of our younger +writers. In her works virtue (after struggles) is always rewarded, +and vice (especially if gilded) is held up to execration, though never +allowed to display itself in colours which would bring a blush to the +cheek of—a white rabbit. Here is her portrait,’ said +Merton, taking up a family periodical, <i>The Young Girl</i>. +This blameless journal was publishing a serial story by Miss Martin, +one of the ladies who had been enlisted at the dinner given by Logan +and Merton when they founded their Society. A photograph of Miss +<!-- page 173--><span class="pagenum">p. 173</span>Martin, in white +and in a large shadowy hat, was published in <i>The Young Girl</i>, +and certainly no one could have recognised in this conscientiously innocent +and domestic portrait the fair author of romances of social adventure +and unimagined crime. ‘There you see our young friend,’ +said Merton; ‘and the magazine, to which she is a regular contributor, +is a voucher for her character as an author.’</p> +<p>Mr. Warren closely scrutinised the portrait, which displayed loveliness +and candour in a very agreeable way, and arranged in the extreme of +modest simplicity.</p> +<p>‘That is a young woman who bears her testimonials in her face,’ +said Mr. Warren. ‘She is one whom a father can trust—but +has she been vaccinated?’</p> +<p>‘Early and often,’ answered Merton reassuringly. +‘Girls with faces like hers do not care to run any risks.’</p> +<p>‘Jane Truman does, though my son has put it to her, I know, +on the ground of her looks. “<i>Nothing</i>,” she +said, “will ever induce me to submit to that filthy, that revolting +operation.”’</p> +<p>‘“Conscience doth make cowards of us all,” as Bacon +says,’ replied Merton, ‘or at least of such of us as are +unenlightened. But to come to business. What do you think +of asking our young friend down to lecture—on Friday week, I think +you said—on the Use and Abuse of Novels? You could easily +persuade her, I dare say, to stay over Sunday—longer if necessary—and +then young Mr. Warren would at least find out that there is more than +one young woman in the world.’</p> +<p><!-- page 174--><span class="pagenum">p. 174</span>‘I shall +be delighted to see your friend,’ answered Mr. Warren. ‘At +Bulcester we welcome intellect, and a real novelist of moral tendencies +would make quite a sensation in our midst.’</p> +<p>‘They are but too scarce at present,’ Merton answered—‘novelists +of high moral tone.’</p> +<p>‘She is not a Christian Scientist?’ asked Mr. Warren +anxiously. ‘They reject vaccination, like all other means +appointed, and rely on miracles, which ceased with the Apostolic age, +being no longer necessary.’</p> +<p>‘The lady, I can assure you, is not a Christian Scientist,’ +said Merton ‘but comes of an Evangelical family. Shall I +give you her address? In my opinion it would be best to write +to her from Bulcester, on the official paper of the Literary Society.’ +For Merton wished to acquaint Miss Martin with the nature of her mission, +lecturing being an art which she had never cultivated.</p> +<p>‘There is just one thing,’ remarked Mr. Warren hesitatingly. +‘This young lady, if our James lets his affections loose on her—how +would <i>that</i> be, sir?’</p> +<p>Merton smiled.</p> +<p>‘Why, no great harm would be done, Mr. Warren. You need +not fear any complication: any new matrimonial difficulty. The +affection would be all on one side, and that side would not be the lady +lecturer’s. I happen to know that she has a prior attachment.’</p> +<p>‘Vaccinated!’ cried Mr. Warren, letting a laugh out of +him.</p> +<p>‘Exactly,’ said Merton.</p> +<p>Mr. Warren now gladly concurred in the plan of his adviser, after +which the interview was concerned <!-- page 175--><span class="pagenum">p. 175</span>with +financial details. Merton usually left these vague, but in Mr. +Warren he saw a client who would feel more confidence if everything +was put on a strictly business footing. The client retired in +a hopeful frame of mind, and Merton went to look for Miss Martin at +her club, where she was usually to be found at the hour of tea.</p> +<p>He was fortunate enough to find her, dressed by no means after the +style of her portrait in <i>The Young Girl</i>, but still very well +dressed. She offered him the refreshment of tea and toast—very +good toast, Merton thought—and he asked how her craft as a novelist +was prospering. Friends of Miss Martin were obliged to ask, for +they did not read <i>The Young Girl</i>, or the other and less domestic +serials in which her works appeared.</p> +<p>‘I am doing very well, thank you,’ said Miss Martin. +‘My tale <i>The Curate’s Family</i> has raised the circulation +of <i>The Young Girl</i>; and, mind you, it is no easy thing for a novelist +to raise the circulation of any periodical. For example, if <i>The +Quarterly Review</i> published a new romance, even by Mr. Thomas Hardy, +I doubt if the end would justify the proceedings.’</p> +<p>‘It would take about four years to get finished in a quarterly,’ +said Merton.</p> +<p>‘And the nonagenarians who read quarterlies,’ said Miss +Martin, with the flippancy of youth, ‘would go to their graves +without knowing whether the heroine found a lenient jury or not. +I have six heroines in <i>The Curate’s Family</i>, and I own their +love affairs tend to get a little mixed. I have rigged up a small +stage, with puppets in costume to represent the characters, <!-- page 176--><span class="pagenum">p. 176</span>and +keep them straight in my mind; but Ethelinda, who is engaged to the +photographer, as nearly as possible eloped with the baronet last week.’</p> +<p>‘Anything else on?’ asked Merton.</p> +<p>‘An up-to-date story, all heredity and evolution,’ said +Miss Martin. ‘The father has his legs bitten off by a shark, +and it gets on the nerves of his wife, the Marchioness, and two of the +girls are born like mermaids. They have immense popularity at +bathing-places on the French coast, but it is not easy for them to go +into general society.’</p> +<p>‘What nonsense!’ exclaimed Merton.</p> +<p>‘Not worse than other stuff that is highly recommended by eminent +reviewers,’ said Miss Martin.</p> +<p>‘Anything else?’</p> +<p>‘Oh, yes; there is “The Pope’s Poisoner, a Tale +of the Borgias.” That is a historical romance, I got it +up out of Histories of the Renaissance. The hero (Lionardo da +Vinci) is the Pope’s bravo, and in love with Lucrezia Borgia.’</p> +<p>‘Are the dates all right?’ asked Merton.</p> +<p>‘Oh, bother the dates! Of course he is a bravo <i>pour +le bon motif</i>, and frustrates the pontifical designs.’</p> +<p>‘I want you,’ said Merton, ‘you have such a fertile +imagination, to take part in a little plot of our own. Beneficent, +of course, but I admit that my fancy is baffled. Could we find +a room less crowded? This is rather private business.’</p> +<p>‘There is never anybody in the smoking-room at the top of the +house,’ said Miss Martin, ‘because—to let out a secret—none +of us ever smoke, except at public dinners to give tone. But <i>you</i> +may.’</p> +<p><!-- page 177--><span class="pagenum">p. 177</span>She led Merton +to a sepulchral little chamber upstairs, and he told her all the story +of Mr. Warren, his son, and the daughter of the minister.</p> +<p>‘Why don’t they elope?’ asked Miss Martin.</p> +<p>‘The Nonconformist conscience is unfriendly to elopements, +and the young man has no accomplishment by which he could support his +bride except the art of making oilcloth.’</p> +<p>‘Well, what do you want me to do?’</p> +<p>Merton unfolded the scheme of the lady lecturer, and prepared Miss +Martin to receive an invitation from Mr. Warren.</p> +<p>‘Can you write a lecture on “The Use and Abuse of Novels” +before Friday week?’ he asked.</p> +<p>‘Say seven thousand words? I could do it by to-morrow +morning,’ said Miss Martin.</p> +<p>‘You know you must be very careful?’</p> +<p>‘Style of answers to correspondents in <i>The Young Girl</i>,’ +said Miss Martin. ‘I know my way about.’</p> +<p>‘Then you really will essay the adventure?’</p> +<p>‘Like a bird,’ answered the lady. ‘It will +be great fun. I shall pick up copy about the habits of the middle +classes in the Midlands.’</p> +<p>‘They won’t recognise you as the author of your more +criminal romances?’</p> +<p>‘How can they? I sign them “Passion Flower” +and “Nightshade,” and “La Tofana,” and so on.’</p> +<p>‘You will dress as in your photograph in <i>The Young Girl</i>?’</p> +<p>‘I will, and take a <i>fichu</i> to wear in the evening. +They always wear <i>fichus</i> in evening dress. But, look here, +do you want a happy ending to this romance?’</p> +<p><!-- page 178--><span class="pagenum">p. 178</span>‘How can +it be happy if you are to be successful? Miss Jane Truman will +be miserable, and Mr. James Warren will die of remorse and a broken +heart, when you—’</p> +<p>‘Fail to crown his flame, and Jane has too much pride to welcome +back the wanderer?’</p> +<p>‘I’m afraid that, or something like that, will be the +end of it,’ said Merton, ‘and, perhaps, on reflection, we +had better drop the affair.’</p> +<p>‘But suppose I could manage a happy ending? Suppose I +reconcile Mr. Warren to the union? I am all for happy endings +myself. I drink to King Charles II., who declared that while <i>he</i> +was king all tragedies should end happily.’</p> +<p>‘You don’t mean that you can persuade Jane to be vaccinated?’</p> +<p>‘One never knows till one tries. You’ll find that +I shall make a happy conclusion to my Borgia novel, and <i>that</i> +is not so easy. You see Lionardo goes to the Pope’s jeweller +and exchanges the—’</p> +<p>Miss Martin paused and remained absorbed in thought.</p> +<p>Suddenly she danced round the room with much grace and <i>abandon</i>, +while Merton, smoking in an arm-chair that had lost a castor, gently +applauded the performance.</p> +<p>‘You have your idea?’ he asked.</p> +<p>‘I have it. Happy ending! Hurrah!’</p> +<p>Miss Martin spun round like a dancing Dervish, and finally fell into +another arm-chair, overcome by the heat and the intoxication of genius.</p> +<p>‘We owe a candle to Saint Alexander Borgia!’ she said, +when she recovered her breath.</p> +<p><!-- page 179--><span class="pagenum">p. 179</span>‘Miss Martin,’ +said Merton gravely, ‘this is a serious matter. You are +not going, I trust, to poison the lemons for the elder Mr. Warren’s +lemon squash? He is strictly Temperance, you know.’</p> +<p>‘Poison the lemons? With a hypodermic syringe?’ +asked Miss Martin. ‘No; that is good business. I have +made one of my villains do <i>that</i>, but that is not my idea. +Perfectly harmless, my idea.’</p> +<p>‘But sensational, I fear?’ asked Merton.</p> +<p>‘Some very cultured critics might think so,’ the lady +admitted. ‘But I am sure to succeed, and I hear the merry, +merry wedding bells of the Bulcester tabernacle ringing a peal for the +happy pair.’</p> +<p>‘Well, what is the plan?’</p> +<p>‘That is my secret.’</p> +<p>‘But I <i>must</i> know. I am responsible. Tell +me, or I telegraph to Mr. Warren: “Lecturer never vaccinated; +sorry for my mistake.”’</p> +<p>‘That would not be true,’ said Miss Martin.</p> +<p>‘A noble falsehood,’ said Merton.</p> +<p>‘But I assure you that if my plan fails no harm can possibly +be caused or suspected. And if it succeeds then the thing is done: +either Mr. Warren is reconciled to the marriage, or—the marriage +is broken off, as he desires.’</p> +<p>‘By whom?’</p> +<p>‘By the Conscientious Objectrix, if that is the feminine of +Objector—by Miss Jane Truman.’</p> +<p>‘Why should Jane break it off if the old gentleman agrees?’</p> +<p>‘Because Jane would be a silly girl. Mr. Merton, I will +promise you one thing. The plan shall not be <!-- page 180--><span class="pagenum">p. 180</span>tried +without the approval of the lover himself. None but he shall be +concerned in the affair.’</p> +<p>‘You won’t hypnotise the girl and let him vaccinate her +when she is in the hypnotic sleep?’</p> +<p>‘No, nor even will I give her a post-hypnotic suggestion to +vaccinate herself, or go to the doctor’s and have it done when +she is awake; though,’ said Miss Martin, ‘that is not bad +business either. I must make a note of that. But I can’t +hypnotise anybody. I tried lots of girls when I was at St. Ursula’s +and nothing ever came of it. Thank you for the idea all the same. +By the way, I first must sterilise the pontifical—’ +She paused.</p> +<p>‘The what?’</p> +<p>‘That is my secret! Don’t you see how safe it is? +None but the lover shall have his and her fate in his hands. <i>C’est +à prendre ou à laisser</i>.’</p> +<p>Merton was young and adventurous.</p> +<p>‘You give me your word that your idea is absolutely safe and +harmless? It involves no crime?’</p> +<p>‘None; and if you like,’ said Miss Martin, ‘I will +bring you the highest professional opinion,’ and she mentioned +an eminent name in the craft of healing. ‘He was our doctor +when we were children,’ said the lady, ‘and we have always +been friends.’</p> +<p>‘Well,’ Merton said, ‘what is good enough for Sir +Josiah Wilkinson is good enough for me. But you will bring me +the document?’</p> +<p>‘The day after to-morrow,’ said Miss Martin, and with +that assurance Merton had to be content.</p> +<p>Sir Josiah was almost equally famous in the world as a physician +and, in a smaller but equally refined <!-- page 181--><span class="pagenum">p. 181</span>circle, +as a virtuoso and collector of objects of art. His opinions about +the beneficent effects of vaccination were known to be at the opposite +pole from those of the intelligent population of Bulcester.</p> +<p>On the next day but one Miss Martin again entertained Merton at her +club, and demurely presented him with three documents. These were +Mr. Warren’s invitation, her reply in acceptance, and a formal +signed statement by Sir Josiah that her scheme was perfectly harmless, +and commanded his admiring approval.</p> +<p>‘Now!’ said Miss Martin.</p> +<p>‘I own that I don’t like it,’ said Merton. +‘Logan thinks that it is all right, but Logan is a born conspirator. +However, as you are set on it, and as Sir Josiah’s opinion carries +great weight, you may go. But be very careful. Have you +written your lecture?’</p> +<p>‘Here is the scenario,’ said Miss Martin, handing a typewritten +synopsis to Merton.</p> +<blockquote><p>‘USE AND ABUSE OF NOVELS.</p> +<p>‘All good things capable of being abused. Alcohol not +one of these; alcohol <i>always</i> pernicious. Fiction, on the +other hand, a good thing. Antiquity of fiction. In early +days couched in verse. Civilisation prefers prose. Fiction, +from the earlier ages, intended to convey Moral Instruction. Opinion +of Aristotle defended against that of Plato. Morality in mediæval +Romance. Criticism of Mr. Frederic Harrison. Opinion of +Molière. Yet French novels usually immoral, <!-- page 182--><span class="pagenum">p. 182</span>and +why. Remarks on Popery. To be avoided. Morality of +Richardson and of Sir Walter Scott. Impropriety re-introduced +by Charlotte Brontë. Unwillingness of Lecturer to dwell on +this Topic. The Novel is now the whole of Literature. The +people have no time to read anything else. Responsibilities of +the Novelist as a Teacher. The Novel the proper vehicle of Theological, +Scientific, Social, and Political Instruction. Mr. Hall Caine, +Miss Corelli. Fallacy of thinking that the Novel should Amuse. +Abuse of the Novel as a source of mischievous and false Opinions. +Case of <i>The Woman Who Did</i>. Sacredness of Marriage. +Study of the Novel becomes an abuse if it leads to the Neglect of the +Morning and Evening Newspapers. Sir Walter Besant on the Novel. +None but the newest Novels ought to be read. Mr. W. D. Howells +on this subject. Experience of the Lecturer as a Novelist. +Gratifying letters from persons happily influenced by the Lecturer. +Anecdotes. Case of Miss A--- C---. Case of Mr. J--- R---. +Unhappy Endings demoralising. Marriage the true End of the Novel, +but the beginning of the happy life. Lecturer wishes her audience +happy Endings and true Beginnings. Conclusion.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>‘Will <i>that</i> do?’ asked Miss Martin anxiously.</p> +<p>‘Yes, if you don’t exceed your plan, or run into chaff.’</p> +<p>‘I won’t,’ said Miss Martin. ‘It is +all chaff, but they won’t see it.’</p> +<p>‘I think I would drop that about Popery,’ said Merton—‘it +may lead to letters in the newspapers; <!-- page 183--><span class="pagenum">p. 183</span>and +<i>do</i> be awfully careful about impropriety in novels.’</p> +<p>‘I’ll put in “Vice to be Condemned, not Described,”’ +said Miss Martin, pencilling a note on the margin of her paper.</p> +<p>‘That seems safe,’ said Merton. ‘But it cuts +out some of our most powerful teachers.’</p> +<p>‘Serve them right!’ said Miss Martin. ‘Teachers! +the arrant humbugs.’</p> +<p>‘You will report at once on your return?’ said Merton. +‘I shall be on tenter-hooks till I see you again. If I knew +what you are really about, I’d take counsel’s opinion. +Medical opinion does not satisfy me: I want legal.’</p> +<p>‘How nervous you are!’ said Miss Martin. ‘Counsel +would be rather stuck up, I think; it is a new kind of case,’ +and the lady laughed in an irritating way. ‘I’ll tell +you what I’ll do,’ she said. ‘I’ll telegraph +to you on the Monday morning after the lecture. If everything +goes well, I’ll telegraph, “Happy ending.” If +anything goes wrong—but it can’t—I’ll telegraph, +“Unhappy ending.”’</p> +<p>‘If you do, I shall be off to Callao.</p> +<blockquote><p>‘<i>On no condition</i><br /> +<i>Is Extradition</i><br /> +<i>Allowed in Callao</i>!’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>said Merton.</p> +<p>‘But if there is any uncertainty—and there <i>may</i> +be,’ said Miss Martin, ‘I’ll telegraph, “Will +report.”’</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>Merton passed a miserable week of suspense and perplexity of mind. +Never had he been so imprudent; <!-- page 184--><span class="pagenum">p. 184</span>he +felt sure of that, and it was the only thing of which he did feel sure. +The newspapers contained bulletins of an epidemic of smallpox at Bulcester. +How would that work into the plot? Then the high animal spirits +and daring fancy of Miss Martin might carry her into undreamed-of adventures.</p> +<p>‘But they won’t let her have even a glass of champagne,’ +reflected Merton. ‘One glass makes her reckless.’</p> +<p>It was with a trembling hand that Merton, about ten on the Monday +morning, took the telegraphic envelope of Fate.</p> +<p>‘I can’t face it,’ he said to Logan. ‘Read +the message to me.’ Merton was unmanned!</p> +<p>Logan carelessly opened the envelope and read:</p> +<p>‘<i>Happy ending</i>, <i>but awfully disappointed. Will +call at one o’clock</i>.’</p> +<p>‘Oh, thanks to all gracious Powers,’ said Merton falling +limply on to a sofa. ‘Ring, Logan, and order a small whisky-and-soda.’</p> +<p>‘I won’t,’ said Logan. ‘Horrid bad +habit. Would you like me to send out for smelling-salts? +Be a man, Merton! Pull yourself together!’</p> +<p>‘You don’t know that awful girl,’ said Merton, +slowly recovering self-control. ‘However, as she is disappointed +though the ending is happy, her infernal plan must have been miscarried, +whatever it was. It <i>must</i> be all right, though I sha’n’t +be quite happy till I see her. I am no coward, Logan’ (and +Merton was later to prove that he possessed coolness and audacity in +no common measure), ‘but it is the awful sense of responsibility. +She is quite capable of getting us into the newspapers.’</p> +<p><!-- page 185--><span class="pagenum">p. 185</span>‘You funk +being laughed at,’ said Logan.</p> +<p>Merton lay on the sofa, smoking too many cigarettes, till, punctually +at one o’clock, a peal at the bell announced the arrival of Miss +Martin. She entered, radiant, smiling, and in her costume of innocence +she looked like a sylph.</p> +<p>‘It is all right—they are engaged, with Mr. Warren’s +full approval,’ she exclaimed.</p> +<p>‘Were we on the stage, I should embrace you!’ exclaimed +Merton rapturously.</p> +<p>‘We are not on the stage,’ replied Miss Martin demurely. +‘And <i>I</i> have no occasion to congratulate myself. My +plot did not come off; never had a look in. Do you want to be +vaccinated? If so, shake hands,’ and Miss Martin extended +her own hands ungloved.</p> +<p>‘I do not want to be vaccinated,’ said Merton.</p> +<p>‘Then don’t shake hands,’ said Miss Martin.</p> +<p>‘What on earth do you mean?’ asked Merton.</p> +<p>‘Look there!’ said the lady, lifting her hand to his +eyes. Merton kissed it.</p> +<p>‘Oh, <i>take care</i>!’ shrieked Miss Martin. ‘It +would be awkward—on the lips. Do you see my ring?’</p> +<p>Merton and Logan examined her ring. It was a beautiful <i>cinque +cento</i> jewel in white and blue enamel, with a high gold top containing +a pointed ruby.</p> +<p>‘It’s very pretty,’ said Merton—‘quite +of the best period. But what is the mystery?’</p> +<p>‘It is a poison ring of the Borgias,’ said Miss Martin. +‘I borrowed it from Sir Josiah Wilkinson. If it scratched +you’ (here she exhibited the mechanism of the jewel), ‘why, +there you are!’</p> +<p>‘Where? Poisoned?’</p> +<p><!-- page 186--><span class="pagenum">p. 186</span>‘No! +Vaccinated!’ said Miss Martin. ‘It is full of the +stuff they vaccinate you with, but it is quite safe as far as the old +poison goes. Sir Josiah sterilised it, in case of accidents, before +he put in the glycerinated lymph. My own idea! He was delighted. +Shall I shake hands with the office-boy?—it might do him good—or +would Kutuzoff give a paw?’</p> +<p>Kutuzoff was the Russian cat.</p> +<p>‘By no means—not for worlds,’ said Merton. +‘Kutuzoff is a Conscientious Objector. But were you going +to shake hands with Miss Truman with that horrible ring? Sacred +emblems enamelled on it,’ said Merton, gingerly examining the +jewel.</p> +<p>‘No; I was not going to do that,’ replied Miss Martin. +‘My idea was to acquire the confidence of the lover—the +younger Mr. Warren—explain to him how the thing works, lend it +to him, and then let him press his Jane’s wrist with it in some +shady arbour. Then his Jane would have been all that the heart +of Mr. Warren <i>père</i> could desire. But it did not +come off.’</p> +<p>‘Thank goodness!’ ejaculated Merton. ‘There +might have been an awful row. I don’t know what the offence +would have been in the eye of the law. Vaccinating a Conscientious +Objector, without consent, yet without violence,—what would the +law say to <i>that</i>?’</p> +<p>‘We might make it <i>hamesucken under trust</i> in Scotland,’ +said Logan, ‘if it was done on the premises of the young lady’s +domicile.’</p> +<p>‘We have not that elegant phrase in England,’ said Merton. +‘Perhaps it would have been a common <!-- page 187--><span class="pagenum">p. 187</span>assault; +but, anyhow, it would have got into the newspapers. Never again +be officer of mine, Miss Martin.’</p> +<p>‘But how did all end happily?’ asked Logan.</p> +<p>‘Why, <i>you</i> may call it happily and so may the lovers, +but <i>I</i> call it very disappointing,’ said Miss Martin.</p> +<p>‘Tell us all about it!’ cried Logan.</p> +<p>‘Well, I went down, simple as you see me.’</p> +<p>‘<i>Simplex munditiis</i>!’ said Merton.</p> +<p>‘And was met at the station by young Mr. Warren. His +father, with the wisdom of a Nonconformist serpent, had sent him alone +to make my acquaintance and be fascinated. My things were put +on a four-wheeler. I was all young enthusiasm in the manner of +<i>The Young Girl</i>. He was a good-looking boy enough, though +in a bowler hat, with turn-down collar. But he was gloomy. +I was curious about the public buildings, ecstatic about the town hall, +and a kind of Moeso-Gothic tabernacle (if it was not Moeso-Gothic in +style I don’t know what it was) where the Rev. Mr. Truman holds +forth. But I could not waken him up, he seemed miserable. +I soon found out the reason. The placards of the local newspapers +shrieked in big type with</p> +<blockquote><p><span class="smcap">Spread Of Smallpox</span>.<br /> +135 <span class="smcap">Cases</span>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>When I saw that I took young Mr. Warren’s hand.’</p> +<p>‘Were you wearing the ring?’ asked Merton.</p> +<p>‘No; it was in my dressing-bag. I said, “Mr. Warren, +I know what care clouds your brow. You are brooding over the fate +of the young, the fair, the <!-- page 188--><span class="pagenum">p. 188</span>beloved—the +unvaccinated. I know the story of your heart.”</p> +<p>‘“How the D--- I mean, how do you know, Miss Martin, +about my private affairs?”</p> +<p>‘“A little bird has told me,” I said (style of +<i>The Young Girl</i>, you know). “I have friends in Bulcester +who esteem you. No, I must not mention names, but I come, not +too late, I hope, to bring you security. She shall be preserved +from this awful scourge, and you shall be her preserver.” +He wanted to know how it was to be done, of course, and after taking +his word of honour for secrecy, I told him that the remedy would lie +in his own hands, showed him the ring, and taught him how to work it. +Mr. Squeers,’ went on Miss Martin, ‘had never wopped a boy +in a cab before, and I had never beheld a scene of passionate emotion +before—in a four-wheeler. He called me his preserver, he +said that I was an angel, he knelt at my feet, and, if we had been on +the stage—as Mr. Merton said—’</p> +<p>‘And were you on the stage?’ asked Merton.</p> +<p>‘That is neither here nor there. It was an instructive +experience, and you little know the treasures of passion that may lie +concealed in the heart of a young oilcloth manufacturer.’</p> +<p>‘Happy young oilcloth manufacturer!’ murmured Merton.</p> +<p>‘They are both happy, but I did not manage my fortunate conclusion +in my own way. When young Mr. Warren had moderated the transports +of his gratitude we were in the suburbs of Bulcester, where the mill-owners +live in houses of the most promiscuous <!-- page 189--><span class="pagenum">p. 189</span>architecture: +Tudor, Jacobean, Queen Anne, Bedford Park Queen Anne, <i>chalets</i>, +Chineseries, “all standing naked in the open air,” for the +trees have not grown up round them yet. Then we came to a gate +without a lodge, the cabman got down and opened it, and we were in the +visible presence of Mr. Warren’s villa. The style is the +Scottish Baronial; all pepper-pots, gables and crowsteps.</p> +<p>‘“What a lovely old place!” I said to my companion. +“Have you secret passages and sliding panels and dark turnpike +stairs? What a house for conspiracies! There is a real turret +window; can’t you fancy it suddenly shot up and the king’s +face popped out, very red, and bellowing, ‘Treason!’”</p> +<p>‘At that moment, when my imagination was in full career, the +turret window <i>was</i> shot up, and a face, very red, with red whiskers, +was popped out.</p> +<p>‘“That is my father,” said young Mr. Warren; and +we alighted, and a very small maidservant opened the portals of the +baronial hall, while the cabman carried up my trunk, and Mr. Warren, +senior, greeted me in the hall.</p> +<p>‘“Welcome to Bulcester!” he said, with a florid +air, and “hoped James and I had made friends on the way,” +and then he actually winked! He is a widower, and I was dying +for tea, but there we sat, and when the little maid came in, it was +to say that a gentleman wanted to see Mr. Warren in the study. +So he went out, and then, James being the victim of gratitude, I took +my courage in both hands and asked if I might have tea. James +said that they usually had it after the lecture was over, which would +not <!-- page 190--><span class="pagenum">p. 190</span>be till nine, +and that some people had been asked to meet me. Then I knew that +I was got among a strange, outlandish race who eat strange meats and +keep High Teas, and my spirit fainted within me.</p> +<p>‘“Oh, Mr. James!” I said, “if you love me +have a cup of tea and some bread-and-butter sent up to my room, and +tell the maid to show me the way to it.”</p> +<p>‘So he sent for her, and she showed me to the best spare room, +with oleographs of Highland scenery on the walls, and coloured Landseer +prints, and tartan curtains, and everything made of ormolu that can +be made of ormolu. In about twenty minutes the girl returned with +tea and poached eggs and toast, and jam and marmalade. So I dressed +for the lecture, which was to begin at eight—just when people +ought to be dining—and came down into the drawing-room. +The elder Mr. Warren was sitting alone, reading the <i>Daily News</i>, +and he rose with an air of happy solemnity and shook hands again.</p> +<p>‘“You can let James alone now, Miss Martin,” he +said, and he winked again, rubbed his hands, and grinned all over his +expansive face.</p> +<p>‘“Let James alone!” I said.</p> +<p>‘“Yes; don’t go upsetting the lad—he’s +not used to young ladies like you. You leave James to himself. +James will do very well. I have a little surprise for James.”</p> +<p>‘He certainly had a considerable surprise for me, but I merely +asked if it was James’s birthday, which it was not.</p> +<p>‘Luckily James entered. All his gloom was gone, thanks +to me, and he was remarkably smiling and <!-- page 191--><span class="pagenum">p. 191</span>particularly +attentive to myself. Mr. Warren seemed perplexed.</p> +<p>‘“James, have you heard any good news?” he asked. +“You seem very gay all of a sudden.”</p> +<p>‘James caught my eye.</p> +<p>‘“No, father,” he said. “What news +do you mean? Anything in business? A large order from Sarawak?”</p> +<p>‘Mr. Warren was silent, but presently took me into a corner +on the pretence of showing me some horrible <i>objet d’art</i>—a +treacly bronze.</p> +<p>‘“I say,” he said, “you must have made great +play in the cab coming from the station. James looks a new man. +I never would have guessed him to be so fickle. But, mind you, +no more of it! Let James be—he will do very well.”</p> +<p>‘How was James to do very well? Why were my fascinations +not to be exercised, as per contract? I began to suspect the worst, +and I was thinking of nothing else while we drove to the premises of +the Bulcester Literary Society. Could Jane have drowned herself +out of the way, or taken smallpox, which might ruin her charms? +Well, I had not a large audience, on account of fear of infection, I +suppose, and all the people present wore the red badge, like Mr. Warren, +only he wore one on each arm. This somewhat amazed me, but as +I had never spoken in public before I was rather in a flutter. +However, I conquered my girlish shyness, and if the audience was not +large it was enthusiastic. When I came to the peroration about +wishing them all happy endings and real beginnings of true life, don’t +you know, the audience actually rose at me, and cheered like anything. +<!-- page 192--><span class="pagenum">p. 192</span>Then someone proposed, +“Three cheers for young Warren,” and they gave them like +mad; I did not know why, nor did he: he looked quite pale. Then +his father, with tears in his voice, proposed a vote of thanks to me, +and said that he and the brave hearts of old Bulcester, his old friends +and brothers in arms, were once more united; and the people stormed +the platform and shook his hand and slapped him on the back. At +last we got out by a back way, where our cab was waiting. Young +Mr. Warren was as puzzled as myself, and his father was greatly overcome +and sobbing in a corner. We got into the house, where people kept +arriving, and at last a fine old clerical-looking bird entered with +a red badge on one arm and a very pretty girl in white on the other. +She had a red badge too.</p> +<p>‘Young Mr. Warren, who was near me when they came in, gave +a queer sort of cry, and then <i>I</i> understood! The girl was +his Jane, and she <i>had</i> been vaccinated, also her father, that +afternoon, owing to the awful panic the old man got into after reading +the evening papers about the smallpox. The gentleman whom Mr. +Warren went to see in the study, just after my arrival, had brought +him this gratifying intelligence, and he had sent the gentleman back +to ask the Trumans to a High Tea of reconciliation. The people +at the lecture had heard of this, and that was why they cheered so for +young Warren, because his affair was as commonly known to all Bulcester +as that of Romeo and Juliet at Verona. They are hearty people +at Bulcester, and not without elements of old English romance.</p> +<p><!-- page 193--><span class="pagenum">p. 193</span>‘Old Mr. +Warren publicly embraced Jane Truman, and then brought her and presented +her to me as James’s bride. We both cried a little, I think, +and then we all sat down to High Tea, and I am scarcely yet the woman +I used to be. It was a height! And a weight! And a +length! After tea Mr. Warren made a speech, and said that Bulcester +had come back to him, and I was afraid that he would brag dreadfully, +but he did not; he was too happy, I think. And then Mr. Truman +made a speech and said that though they felt obliged to own that they +had come to the conclusion that though Anti-vaccination was a holy thing, +still (in the circumstances) vaccination was good enough. But +they yet clung to principles for which Hampden died on the field, and +Russell on the scaffold, and many of their own citizens in bed! +There must be no Coercion. Everyone who liked must be allowed +to have smallpox as much as he pleased. All other issues were +unimportant except that of freedom!</p> +<p>‘Here I rose—I was rather excited—and said that +I hoped the reverend speaker was not deserting the sacred principle +of compulsory temperance? Would the speaker allow people freedom +to drink? All other issues were unimportant compared with that +of freedom, <i>except</i> the interest of depriving a poor man of his +beer. To catch smallpox was a Briton’s birthright, but not +to take a modest quencher. No freedom to drink! “Down +with the drink!” I cried, and drained my tea-cup, and waved it, +amidst ringing cheers. Mr. Truman admitted that there were exceptions—one +exception, at least. <!-- page 194--><span class="pagenum">p. 194</span>Disease +must be free to all, not alcohol nor Ritualism. He thanked his +young friend the gifted lecturer for recalling him to his principles.</p> +<p>‘The principles of the good old cause, the Puritan cause, were +as pure as glycerinated lymph, and he proposed to found a Liberal Vaccinationist +League. They are great people for leagues at Bulcester, and they +like the initials L. V. L. There was no drinking of toasts, for +there was nothing to drink them in, and—do you know, Mr. Merton?—I +think it must be nearly luncheon time.’</p> +<p>‘Champagne appears to me to be indicated,’ said Merton, +who rang the bell and then summoned Miss Blossom from her typewriting.</p> +<p>‘We have done nothing,’ Merton said, ‘but heaven +only knows what we have escaped in the adventure of the Lady Novelist +and the Vaccinationist.’</p> +<p>On taking counsel’s opinion, Merton learned, with a shudder, +that if young Warren had used the Borgia ring, and if Jane had resented +it, he might have been indicted for a common assault, under 24 and 25 +Victoria, cap. 100, sec. 24, for ‘unlawfully and maliciously administering +a noxious thing with intent to annoy.’</p> +<p>‘I don’t think she could have proved the intent to annoy,’ +said the learned counsel.</p> +<p>‘You don’t know a Bulcester jury as it was before the +epidemic,’ said Merton. ‘And I might have been an +accessory before the fact, and, anyhow, we should all have got into +the newspapers.’</p> +<p>Miss Martin was the most admired of the bridesmaids at the Warren-Truman +marriage.</p> +<h2><!-- page 195--><span class="pagenum">p. 195</span>X. ADVENTURE +OF THE FAIR AMERICAN</h2> +<h3>I. The Prize of a Lady’s Hand</h3> +<p>‘Yes, I guess that Pappa <i>was</i> reckoned considerable of +a crank. A great educational reformer, and a progressive Democratic +stalwart, <i>that</i> is the kind of hair-pin Pappa was! But it +is awkward for me, some.’</p> +<p>These remarks, though of an obsolete and exaggerated transatlantic +idiom, were murmured in the softest of tones, in the most English of +silken accents, by the most beautiful of young ladies. She occupied +the client’s chair in Merton’s office, and, as she sat there +and smiled, Merton acknowledged to himself that he had never met a client +so charming and so perplexing.</p> +<p>Miss McCabe had been educated, as Merton knew, at an aristocratic +Irish convent in Paris, a sanctuary of old names and old creeds. +This was the plan of her late father (spoken of by her as Pappa), an +educational reformer of eccentric ideas, who, though of ancient (indeed +royal) Irish descent, was of American birth. The young lady had +thus acquired abroad, much against her will, that kind of English accent +which some of her countrywomen reckon ‘affected.’ +<!-- page 196--><span class="pagenum">p. 196</span>But her intense patriotism +had induced her to study, in the works of American humourists, and to +reproduce in her discourse, the flowers of speech of which a specimen +has been presented. The national accent was beyond her, but at +least she could be true to what she (erroneously) believed to be the +national idiom.</p> +<p>‘Your case is peculiar,’ said Merton thoughtfully, ‘and +scarcely within our province. As a rule our clients are the parents, +guardians, or children of persons entangled in undesirable engagements. +But you, I understand, are dissatisfied with the matrimonial conditions +imposed by the will of the late Mr. McCabe?’</p> +<p>‘I want to take my own pick out of the crowd—’ +said Miss McCabe.</p> +<p>‘I can readily understand,’ said Merton, bowing, ‘that +the throng of wooers is enormous,’ and he vaguely thought of Penelope.</p> +<p>‘The scheme will be popular. It will hit our people right +where they live,’ said Miss McCabe, not appropriating the compliment. +‘You see Pappa struck ile early, and struck it often. He +was what our Howells calls a “multimillionaire,” and I’m +his only daughter. Pappa loved <i>me</i>, but he loved the people +better. Guess Pappa was not mean, not worth a cent. He was +a white man!’</p> +<p>Miss McCabe, with a glow of lovely enthusiasm, contemplated the unprecedented +whiteness of the paternal character.</p> +<p>‘“What the people want,” Pappa used to say, “is +education. They want it short, and they want it <!-- page 197--><span class="pagenum">p. 197</span>striking.” +That was why he laid out five millions on his celebrated Museum of Freaks, +with a staff of competent professors and lecturers. “The +McCabe Museum of Natural Varieties, lectures and all, is open gratuitously +to the citizens of our Republic, and to intelligent foreigners.” +That was how Pappa put it. <i>I</i> say that he dead-headed creation!’</p> +<p>‘Truly Republican munificence,’ said Merton, ‘worthy +of your great country.’</p> +<p>‘Well, I should smile,’ said Miss McCabe.</p> +<p>‘But—excuse my insular ignorance—I do not exactly +understand how a museum of freaks, admirably organised as no doubt it +is, contributes to the cause of popular education.’</p> +<p>‘You have museums even in London?’ asked Miss McCabe.</p> +<p>Merton assented.</p> +<p>‘Are they not educational?’</p> +<p>‘The British Museum is mainly used by the children of the poor, +as a place where they play a kind of subdued hide-and-seek,’ said +Merton.</p> +<p>‘That’s because they are not interested in tinned Egyptian +corpses and broken Greek statuary ware,’ answered the fair Republican. +‘Now, Mr. Merton, did you ever see or hear of a <i>popular</i> +museum, a museum that the People would give its cents to see?’</p> +<p>‘I have heard of Mr. Barnum’s museum,’ said Merton.</p> +<p>‘That’s the idea: it is right there,’ said Miss +McCabe. ‘But old man Barnum was not scientific. He +saw what our people wanted, but he did not see, <!-- page 198--><span class="pagenum">p. 198</span>Pappa +said, how to educate them through their natural instincts. Barnum’s +mermaid was not genuine business. It confused the popular mind, +and fostered superstition—and got found out. The result +was scepticism, both religious and scientific. Now, Pappa used +to argue, the lives of our citizens are monotonous. They see yellow +dogs, say, but each yellow dog has only one tail. They see men +and women, but almost all of them have only one head: and even a hand +with six fingers is not common. This is why the popular mind runs +into grooves. This causes what they call “the dead level +of democracy.” Even our men of genius, Pappa allowed (for +he was a very fair-minded man), do not go ahead of the European ticket, +but rather the reverse. Your Tennyson has the inner tracks of +our Longfellow: your Thackeray gives our Bertha Runkle his dust. +The papers called Pappa unpatriotic, and a bad American. But he +was <i>not</i>: he was a white man. When he saw his country’s +faults he put his finger on them, right there, and tried to cure them.’</p> +<p>‘A noble policy,’ murmured Merton.</p> +<p>Miss McCabe was really so pretty and unusual, that he did not care +how long she was in coming to the point.</p> +<p>‘Well, Pappa argued that there was more genius, or had been +since the Declaration of Independence, even in England, than in the +States. “And why?” he asked. “Why, because +they have more <i>variety</i> in England. Things are not all on +one level there—”’</p> +<p>‘Our dogs have only one tail apiece,’ said Merton, ‘in +spite of the proverb “<i>as proud as a dog with two</i> <!-- page 199--><span class="pagenum">p. 199</span><i>tails</i>,” +and a plurality of heads is unusual even among British subjects.’</p> +<p>‘Yes,’ answered Miss McCabe, ‘but you have varieties +among yourselves. You have a King and a Queen; and your peerage +is rich in differentiated species. A Baronet is not a Marquis, +nor is a Duke an Earl.’</p> +<p>‘He may be both,’ said Merton, but Miss McCabe continued +to expose the parental philosophy.</p> +<p>‘Now Pappa would not hear of aristocratic distinctions in our +country. He was a Hail Columbia man, on the Democratic ticket. +But <i>something</i> is wanted, he said, to get us out of grooves, and +break the monotony. That something, said Pappa, Nature has mercifully +provided in Freaks. The citizens feel this, unconsciously: that’s +why they spend their money at Barnum’s. But Barnum was not +scientific, and Barnum was not straight about his mermaid. So +Pappa founded his Museum of Natural Varieties, all of them honest Injun. +Here the lecturers show off the freaks, and explain how Nature works +them, and how she can always see them and go one better. We have +the biggest gold nugget and the weeniest cunning least gold nugget; +the biggest diamond and the smallest diamond; the tallest man and the +smallest man; the whitest negro and the yellowest red man in the world. +We have the most eccentric beasts, and the queerest fishes, and everything +is explained by lecturers of world-wide reputation, on the principles +of evolution, as copyrighted by our Asa Gray and our Agassiz. +<i>That</i> is what Pappa called popular education, and it hits our +citizens right where they live.’</p> +<p><!-- page 200--><span class="pagenum">p. 200</span>Miss McCabe paused, +in a flush of filial and patriotic enthusiasm. Merton inwardly +thought that among the queerest fishes the late Mr. McCabe must have +been pre-eminent. But what he said was, ‘The scheme is most +original. Our educationists (to employ a term which they do not +disdain), such as Mr. Herbert Spencer, Sir Joshua Fitch, and others, +have I thought out nothing like this. Our capitalists never endow +education on this more than imperial scale.’</p> +<p>‘Guess they are scaly varmints!’ interposed Miss McCabe.</p> +<p>Merton bowed his acquiescence in the sentiment.</p> +<p>‘But,’ he went on, ‘I still do not quite understand +how your own prospects in life are affected by Mr. McCabe’s most +original and, I hope, promising experiment?’</p> +<p>‘Pappa loved me, but he loved his country better, and taught +me to adore her, and be ready for any sacrifice.’ Miss McCabe +looked straight at Merton, like an Iphigenia blended with a Joan of +Arc.</p> +<p>‘I do sincerely trust that no sacrifice is necessary,’ +said Merton. ‘The circumstances do not call for so—unexampled +a victim.’</p> +<p>‘I am to be Lady Principal of the museum when I come to the +age of twenty-five: that is, in six years,’ said Miss McCabe proudly. +‘You don’t call <i>that</i> a sacrifice?’</p> +<p>Merton wanted to say that the most magnificent of natural varieties +would only be in its proper place. But the <i>man of business</i> +and the manager of a great and beneficent association overcame the mere +amateur of beauty, and he only said that the position of <!-- page 201--><span class="pagenum">p. 201</span>Lady +Principal was worthy of the ambition of a patriot, and a friend of the +species.</p> +<p>‘Well, I reckon! But a clause in Pappa’s will is +awkward for me, some. It is about my marriage,’ said Miss +McCabe bravely.</p> +<p>Merton assumed an air of grave interest.</p> +<p>‘Pappa left it in his will that I was to marry the man (under +the age of five-and-thirty, and of unimpeachable character and education) +who should discover, and add to the museum, the most original and unheard-of +natural variety, whether found in the Old or the New World.’</p> +<p>Merton could scarcely credit the report of his ears.</p> +<p>‘Would you oblige me by repeating that statement?’ he +said, and Miss McCabe repeated it in identical terms, obviously quoting +textually from the will.</p> +<p>‘Now I understand your unhappy position,’ said Merton, +thoroughly agreeing with the transatlantic critics who had pronounced +the late Mr. McCabe ‘considerable of a crank.’ ‘But +this is far too serious a matter for me—for our Association. +I am no legist, but I am convinced that, at least British, and I doubt +not American, law would promptly annul a testatory clause so utterly +unreasonable and unprecedented.’</p> +<p>‘Unreasonable!’ exclaimed Miss McCabe, rising to her +feet with eyes of flame, ‘I am my father’s daughter, and +his wish is my law, whatever the laws that men make may say.’</p> +<p>Her affectation of slang had fallen off; she was absolutely natural +now, and entirely in earnest.</p> +<p>Merton rose also.</p> +<p><!-- page 202--><span class="pagenum">p. 202</span>‘One moment,’ +he said. ‘It would be impertinence in me to express my admiration +of you—of what you say. As the question is not a legal one +(in such I am no fit adviser) I shall think myself honoured if you will +permit me to be of any service in the circumstances. They are +less unprecedented than I hastily supposed. History records many +examples of fathers, even of royal rank, who have attached similar conditions +to the disposal of their daughters’ hands.’</p> +<p>Merton was thinking of the kings in the treatises of Monsieur Charles +Perrault, Madame d’Aulnoy, and other historians of Fairyland; +of monarchs who give their daughters to the bold adventurers that bring +the smallest dog, or the singing rose, or the horse magical.</p> +<p>‘What you really want, I think,’ he went on, as Miss +McCabe resumed her seat, ‘is to have your choice, as you said, +among the competitors?’</p> +<p>‘Yes,’ replied the fair American, ‘that is only +natural.’</p> +<p>‘But then,’ said Merton, ‘much depends on who decides +as to the merits of the competitors. With whom does the decision +rest?’</p> +<p>‘With the people.’</p> +<p>‘With the people?’</p> +<p>‘Yes, with the popular vote, as expressed through the newspaper +that my father founded—<i>The Yellow Flag</i>. The public +is to see the exhibits, the new varieties of nature, and the majority +of votes is to carry the day. “Trust the people!” +that was Pappa’s word.’</p> +<p>‘Then anyone who chooses, of the age, character, and education +stipulated under the clause in the will, <!-- page 203--><span class="pagenum">p. 203</span>may +go and bring in whatever variety of nature he pleases and take his chance?’</p> +<p>‘That is it all the time,’ said the client. ‘There +is a trust, and the trustees, friends of Pappa’s, decide on the +qualifications of the young men who enter for the competition. +If the trustees are satisfied they allot money for expenses out of the +exploration fund, so that nobody may be stopped because he is poor.’</p> +<p>‘There will be an enormous throng of competitors in these conditions—and +with such a prize,’ Merton could not help adding.</p> +<p>‘I reckon the trustees are middling particular. They’ll +weed them out.’</p> +<p>‘Is there any restriction on the nationality of the competitors?’ +asked Merton, on whom an idea was dawning.</p> +<p>‘Only members of the English speaking races need apply,’ +said Miss McCabe. ‘Pappa took no stock in Spaniards or Turks.’</p> +<p>‘The voters will be prejudiced in favour of their own fellow +citizens?’ asked Merton. ‘That is only natural.’</p> +<p>‘Trust the people,’ said Miss McCabe. ‘The +whole thing is to be kept as dark as a blind coloured person hunting +in a dark cellar for a black cat that is not there.’</p> +<p>‘A truly Miltonic illustration,’ said Merton.</p> +<p>‘The advertisement for competitors will be carefully worded, +so as to attract only young men of science. The young men are +not to be told about <i>me</i>: the prize is in dollars, “with +other advantages to be later specified.” The varieties found +are to be <!-- page 204--><span class="pagenum">p. 204</span>conveyed +to a port abroad, not yet named, and shipped for New York in a steamer +belonging to the McCabe Trust.’</p> +<p>‘Then am I to understand that the conditions affecting your +marriage are still an entire secret?’</p> +<p>‘That is so,’ said Miss McCabe, ‘and I guess from +what the marchioness told me, your reference, that you can keep a secret.’</p> +<p>‘To keep secrets is the very essential of my vocation,’ +said Merton.</p> +<p>But <i>this</i> secret, as will be seen, he did not absolutely keep.</p> +<p>‘The arrangements,’ he added, ‘are most judicious.’</p> +<p>‘Guess Pappa was ’cute,’ said Miss McCabe, relapsing +into her adopted mannerisms.</p> +<p>‘I think I now understand the case in all its bearings,’ +Merton went on. ‘I shall give it my serious consideration. +Perhaps I had better say no more at present, but think over the matter. +You remain in town for the season?’</p> +<p>‘Guess we’ve staked out a claim in Berkeley Square,’ +said Miss McCabe, ‘an agreeable location.’ She mentioned +the number of the house.</p> +<p>‘Then we are likely to meet now and then,’ said Merton, +‘and I trust that I may be permitted to wait on you occasionally.’</p> +<p>Miss McCabe graciously assented; her chaperon, Lady Rathcoffey, was +summoned by her from the inner chamber and the society of Miss Blossom, +the typewriter; the pair drove away, and Merton was left to his own +reflections.</p> +<p>‘I do not know what can be done for her,’ he <!-- page 205--><span class="pagenum">p. 205</span>thought, +‘except to see that there is at least one eligible man, a gentleman, +among the crowd of competitors, and that he is a likely man to win the +beautiful prize. And that man is Bude, by Jove, if he wants to +win it.’</p> +<p>The Earl of Bude, whose name at once occurred to Merton, was a remarkable +personage. The world knew him as rich, handsome, happy, and a +mighty hunter of big game. They knew not the mysterious grief +that for years had gnawed at his heart. Why did not Bude marry? +No woman could say. The world, moreover, knew not, but Merton +did, that Lord Bude was the mysterious Mr. Jones Harvey, who contributed +the most original papers to the Proceedings of the Geographical and +Zoological Societies, and who had conferred many strange beasts on the +Gardens of the latter learned institution. The erudite papers +were read, the eccentric animals were conferred, in the name of Mr. +Jones Harvey. They came from outlandish addresses in the ends +of the earth, but, in the flesh, Jones Harvey had been seen by no man, +and his secret had been confided to Merton only, to Logan, and two other +school friends. He did good to science by stealth, and blushed +at the idea of being a F.R.S. There was no show of science about +Bude, and nothing exotic, except the singular circumstance that, however +he happened to be dressed, he always wore a ring, or pin, or sleeve +links set with very ugly and muddy looking pearls. From these +ornaments Lord Bude was inseparable; to chaff about presents from dusky +princesses on undiscovered shores he was impervious. Even Merton +<!-- page 206--><span class="pagenum">p. 206</span>did not know the +cause of his attachment to these ungainly jewels, or the dark memory +of mysterious loss with which they were associated.</p> +<p>Merton’s first care was to visit the divine Althæa, Mrs. +Brown-Smith, and other ladies of his acquaintance. Their cards +were deposited at the claim staked out by Miss McCabe in Berkeley Square, +and that young lady soon ‘went everywhere,’ and publicly +confessed that she ‘was having a real lovely time.’ +By a little diplomacy Lord Bude was brought acquainted with Miss McCabe. +She consented to overlook his possession of a coronet; titles were, +to this heroine, not marvels (as to some of her countrywomen and ours), +but rather matters of indifference, scarcely even suggesting hostile +prejudice. The observers in society, mothers and maids, and the +chroniclers of fashion, soon perceived that there was at least a marked +<i>camaraderie</i> between <i>the elegant aristocrat</i>, hitherto indifferent +to woman, untouched, as was deemed, by love, and the lovely Child of +Freedom. Miss McCabe sat by him while he drove his coach; on the +roof of his drag at Lord’s; and of his houseboat at Henley, where +she fainted when the crew of Johns Hopkins University, U. S., was defeated +by a length by Balliol (where Lord Bude had been the favourite pupil +of the great Master). Merton remarked these tokens of friendship +with approval. If Bude could be induced to enter for the great +competition, and if he proved successful, there seemed no reason to +suppose that Miss McCabe would be dissatisfied with the People’s +choice.</p> +<p>Towards the end of the season, and in Bude’s <!-- page 207--><span class="pagenum">p. 207</span>smoking-room, +about five in the July morning after a ball at Eglintoun House, Merton +opened his approaches. He began, cautiously, from talk of moors +and forests; he touched on lochs, he mentioned the Highland traditions +of water bulls (which haunt these meres); he spoke of the <i>Beathach +mòr Loch Odha</i>, a legendary animal of immeasurable length. +The <i>Beathach</i> has twelve feet; he has often been heard crashing +through the ice in the nights of winter. These tales the narrator +has gleaned from the lips of the Celtic peasantry of Letter Awe.</p> +<p>‘I daresay he does break the ice,’ said Bude. ‘In +the matter of cryptic survivals of extinct species I can believe a good +deal.’</p> +<p>‘The sea serpent?’ asked Merton.</p> +<p>‘Seen him thrice,’ said Bude.</p> +<p>‘Then why did not Jones Harvey weigh in with a letter to <i>Nature</i>?’</p> +<p>‘Jones Harvey has a scientific reputation to look after, and +knows he would be laughed at. That’s the kind of hair-pin +<i>he</i> is,’ said Bude, quoting Miss McCabe. ‘By +Jove, Merton, that girl—’ and he paused.</p> +<p>‘Yes, she is pretty,’ said Merton.</p> +<p>‘Pretty! I have seen the women of the round world—before +I went to—well, never mind where, I used to think the Poles the +most magnificent, but <i>she</i>—’</p> +<p>‘Whips creation,’ said Merton. ‘But I,’ +he went on, ‘am rather more interested in these other extraordinary +animals. Do you seriously believe, with your experience, that +some extinct species are—not extinct?’</p> +<p><!-- page 208--><span class="pagenum">p. 208</span>‘To be sure +I do. The world is wide. But they are very shy. I +once stalked a Bunyip, in Central Australia, in a lagoon. The +natives said he was there: I watched for a week, squatting in the reeds, +and in the grey of the seventh dawn I saw him.’</p> +<p>‘Did you shoot?’</p> +<p>‘No, I observed him through a field glass first.’</p> +<p>‘What is the beggar like?’</p> +<p>‘Much like some of the Highland water cattle, as described, +but it is his ears they take for horns. Australia has no indigenous +horned animal. He is, I should say, about nine feet long, marsupial +(he rose breast high), and web-footed. I saw that when he dived. +Other white men have seen him—Buckley, the convict, for one, when +he lived among the blacks.’</p> +<p>‘Buckley was not an accurate observer.’</p> +<p>‘Jones Harvey is.’</p> +<p>‘Any other queer beasts?’</p> +<p>‘Of course, plenty. You have heard of the Mylodon, the +gigantic Sloth? His bones, skin, and hair were lately found in +a cave in Patagonia, with a lot of his fodder. You can see them +at the British Museum in South Kensington. Primitive Patagonian +man used the female of the species as a milch-cow. He was a genial +friendly kind of brute, accessible to charm of manner and chopped hay. +They fed him on that, in a domesticated state.’</p> +<p>‘But he is extinct. Hesketh Pritchard went to look for +a live Mylodon, and did not find him.’</p> +<p>‘Did not know where to look,’ said Bude.</p> +<p>‘But you do?’ asked Merton.</p> +<p><!-- page 209--><span class="pagenum">p. 209</span>‘Yes, I +think so.’</p> +<p>‘Then why don’t you bring one over to the Zoo?’</p> +<p>‘I may some day.’</p> +<p>‘Are there any more survivors of extinct species?’</p> +<p>‘Merton, is this an interview? Are you doing Mr. Jones +Harvey at home for a picture paper?’</p> +<p>‘No, I’ve dropped the Press,’ said Merton, ‘I +ask in a spirit of scientific curiosity.’</p> +<p>‘Well, there is the Dinornis, the Moa of New Zealand. +A bird as big as the Roc in the “Arabian Nights.”’</p> +<p>‘Have you seen <i>him</i>?’</p> +<p>‘No, but I have seen <i>her</i>, the hen bird. She was +sitting on eggs. No man knows her nest but myself, and old Te-iki-pa, +the chief medicine-man, or Tohunga, of the Maori King. The Moa’s +eyrie is in the King’s country. It is a difficult country, +and a dangerous business, if the cock Moa chances to come home.’</p> +<p>‘Bude, is this worthy of an old friend, this <i>blague</i>?’</p> +<p>‘Do you doubt my word?’</p> +<p>‘If you give me your word I must believe—that you dreamed +it.’</p> +<p><i>Then a strange thing happened</i>.</p> +<p>Bude walked to a small case of instruments that stood on a table +in the smoking-room. He unlocked it, took out a lancet, brought +a Rhodian bowl from a shelf, and bared his arm.</p> +<p>‘Do you want proof?’</p> +<p>‘Proof that you saw a hen Moa sitting?’ asked Merton +in amazement.</p> +<p><!-- page 210--><span class="pagenum">p. 210</span>‘Not exactly, +but proof that Te-iki-pa knew a thing or two, quite as out of the way +as the habitat of the Moa.’</p> +<p>‘What do you want me to do?’</p> +<p>‘Bare your arm, and hold it over the bowl.’</p> +<p>The room was full of the yellow dusky light of an early summer morning +in London. Outside the heavy carts were rolling by: in full civilisation +the scene was strange.</p> +<p>‘The Blood Covenant?’ asked Merton.</p> +<p>Bude nodded.</p> +<p>Merton turned up his cuff, Bude let a little blood drop into the +bowl, then performed the same operation on his own arm.</p> +<p>‘This is all rot,’ he said, ‘but without this I +cannot show you, by virtue of my oath to Te-iki-pa, what I mean to show +you. Now repeat after me what I am going to say.’</p> +<p>He spoke a string of words, among which Merton, as he repeated them, +could only recognise <i>mana</i> and <i>atua</i>. The vowel sounds +were as in Italian.</p> +<p>‘Now these words you must never report to any one, without +my permission.’</p> +<p>‘Not likely,’ said Merton, ‘I only remember two +of them, and these I knew before.’</p> +<p>‘All right,’ said Bude.</p> +<p>He then veiled his face in a piece of silk that lay on a sofa, and +rapidly, in a low voice, chanted a kind of hymn in a tongue unknown +to Merton. All this he did with a bored air, as if he thought +the performance a superfluous mummery.</p> +<p>‘Now what shall I show you? Something simple. <!-- page 211--><span class="pagenum">p. 211</span>Look +at the bookcase, and think of any book you may want to consult.’</p> +<p>Merton thought of the volume in M. of the <i>Encyclopædia Britannica</i>. +The volume slowly slid from the shelf, glided through the air to Merton, +and gently subsided on the table near him, open at the word <i>Moa</i>.</p> +<p>Merton walked across to the bookcase, took all the volumes from the +shelf, and carefully examined the backs and sides for springs and mechanical +advantages. There were none.</p> +<p>‘Not half bad!’ he said, when he had completed his investigation.</p> +<p>‘You are satisfied that Te-iki-pa knew something? If +you had seen what I have seen, if you had seen the three days dead—’ +and Bude shivered slightly.</p> +<p>‘I have seen enough. Do you know how it is done?’</p> +<p>‘No.’</p> +<p>‘Well, a miracle is not what you call logical proof, but I +believe that you did see the Moa, and a still more extraordinary bird, +Te-iki-pa.’</p> +<p>‘Yes, they talk of strange beasts, but “nothing is stranger +than man.” Did you ever hear of the Berbalangs of Cagayan +Sulu?’</p> +<p>‘Never in my life,’ said Merton.</p> +<p>‘Heaven preserve me from <i>them</i>,’ said Bude, and +he gently stroked the strange muddy pearls in the sleeve-links on his +loose shirt-cuff. ‘Angels and ministers of grace defend +us,’ he exclaimed, crossing himself (he was of the old faith), +and he fell silent.</p> +<p><!-- page 212--><span class="pagenum">p. 212</span>It was a moment +of emotion. Six silvery strokes were sounded from a little clock +on the chimney-piece. The hour of confidences had struck.</p> +<p>‘Bude, you are serious about Miss McCabe?’ asked Merton.</p> +<p>‘I mean to put it to the touch at Goodwood.’</p> +<p>‘No use!’ said Merton.</p> +<p>Bude changed colour.</p> +<p>‘Are <i>you</i>?’</p> +<p>‘No,’ interrupted Merton. ‘But she is not +free.’</p> +<p>‘There is somebody in America? Nobody here, I think.’</p> +<p>‘It is hardly that,’ said Merton. ‘Can you +listen to rather a long story? I’ll cut it as much as possible. +You must remember that I am practically breaking my word of honour in +telling you this. My honour is in your hands.’</p> +<p>‘Fire away,’ said Bude, pouring a bottle of Apollinaris +water into a long tumbler, and drinking deep.</p> +<p>Merton told the tale of Miss McCabe’s extraordinary involvement, +and of the wild conditions on which her hand was to be won. ‘And +as to her heart, I think,’ he added, ‘if you pull off the +prize—</p> +<blockquote><p>If my heart by signs can tell,<br /> +Lordling, I have marked her daily,<br /> +And I think she loves thee well.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>‘Thank you for that, old cock,’ replied the peer, shaking +Merton’s hand. He had recovered from his emotion.</p> +<p><!-- page 213--><span class="pagenum">p. 213</span>‘I’m +on,’ he added, after a moment’s silence, ‘but I shall +enter as Jones Harvey.’</p> +<p>‘His name and his celebrated papers will impress the trustees,’ +said Merton. ‘Now what variety of nature shall you go for? +Wild <i>men</i> count. Shall you fetch a Berbalang of what do +you call it?’</p> +<p>Bude shuddered. ‘Not much,’ he said. ‘I +think I shall fetch a Moa.’</p> +<p>‘But no steamer could hold that gigantic denizen of the forests.’</p> +<p>‘You leave that to Jones Harvey. Jones is ’cute, +some,’ he said, reminiscent of the adored one, and he fell into +a lover’s reverie.</p> +<p>He was aroused by Merton’s departure: he finished the Apollinaris +water, took a bath, and went to bed.</p> +<h3>II. The Adventure of the Muddy Pearls</h3> +<p>The Earl of Bude had meant to lay his heart, coronet, and other possessions, +real and personal, before the tiny feet of the fair American at Goodwood. +But when he learned from Merton the involvements of this heiress and +paragon, that her hand depended on the choice of the people, that the +choice of the people was to settle on the adventurer who brought to +New York the rarest of nature’s varieties, the earl honourably +held his peace. Yet he and the object of his love were constantly +meeting, on the yachts and in the country houses of their friends, the +aristocracy, and, finally, at shooting lodges in the Highlands. +Their position, as the Latin Delectus <!-- page 214--><span class="pagenum">p. 214</span>says +concerning the passion of love in general, was ‘a strange thing, +and full of anxious fears.’ Bude could not declare himself, +and Miss McCabe, not knowing that he knew her situation, was constantly +wondering why he did not speak. Between fear of letting her secret +show itself in a glance or a blush and hope of listening to the words +which she desired to hear, even though she could not answer them as +her heart prompted, she was unhappy. Bude could not resist the +temptation to be with her—indeed he argued to himself that, as +her suitor and an adventurer about to risk himself in her cause, he +had a right to be near her. Meanwhile Merton was the confidant +of both of the perplexed lovers; at least Miss McCabe (who, of course, +told him nothing about Bude) kept him apprised as to the conduct of +her trustees.</p> +<p>They had acted with honourable caution and circumspection. +Their advertisements guardedly appealed to men of daring and of scientific +distinction under the age of thirty-five. A professorship might +have been in view for all that the world could see, if the world read +the advertisements. Perhaps it was something connected with the +manufacture of original explosives, for daring is not usually required +in the learned. The testimonials and printed works of applicants +were jealously scrutinised. At personal interviews with competitors +similar caution was observed. During three weeks in August the +papers announced that Lord Bude was visiting the States; arrangements +about a yachting match in the future were his pretence. He returned, +he came to Scotland, <!-- page 215--><span class="pagenum">p. 215</span>and +it was in a woodland path beside the Lochy that his resolution failed, +and that he spoke to Miss McCabe. They were walking home together +from the river in the melancholy and beautiful close of a Highland day +in September. Behind them the gillies, at a respectful distance, +were carrying the rods and the fish. The wet woods were fragrant, +the voice of the stream was deepening, strange lights came and went +on moor and hills and the distant loch. It was then that Bude +opened his heart. He first candidly explained that his heart, +he had supposed, was dead—buried on a distant and a deadly shore.</p> +<p>‘I reckon there’s a lost Lenore most times,’ Miss +McCabe had replied to this confession.</p> +<p>But, though never to be forgotten, the memory of the lost one, Bude +averred, was now merged in the light of a living love; his heart was +no longer tenanted only by a shadow.</p> +<p>The heart of Miss McCabe stood still for a moment, her cheek paled, +but the gallant girl was true to herself, to her father’s wish, +to her native land, to the flag. She understood her adorer.</p> +<p>‘Guess <i>I</i>’m bespoke,’ said Miss McCabe abruptly.</p> +<p>‘You are another’s! Oh, despair!’ exclaimed +the impassioned earl.</p> +<p>‘Yes, I reckon I’m the Bride of Seven, like the girl +in the poem.’</p> +<p>‘The Bride of Seven?’ said Bude.</p> +<p>‘One out of <i>that</i> crowd will call me his,’ said +Miss McCabe, handing to her adorer the list, which she had received +by mail a day or two earlier, of the accepted competitors. He +glanced over the names.</p> +<p><!-- page 216--><span class="pagenum">p. 216</span>1. Dr. Hiram +P. Dodge, of the Smithsonian Institute.</p> +<p>2. Alfred Jenkins, F.R.S., All Souls College, Oxford.</p> +<p>3. Dr. James Rustler, Columbia University.</p> +<p>4. Howard Fry, M.A., Ph.D., Trinity College, Cambridge.</p> +<p>5. Professor Potter, F.R.S., University of St. Andrews.</p> +<p>6. Professor Wilkinson, University of Harvard.</p> +<p>7. Jones Harvey, F.G.S., London, England.</p> +<p>‘In Heaven’s name,’ asked the earl, ‘what +means this mystification? Miss McCabe, Melissa, do not trifle +with me. Is this part of the great American Joke? You are +playing it pretty low down on me, Melissa!’ he ended, the phrase +being one of those with which she had made him familiar.</p> +<p>She laughed hysterically: ‘It’s honest Injun,’ +she said, and in the briefest terms she told him (what he knew very +well) the conditions on which her future depended.</p> +<p>‘They are a respectable crowd, I don’t deny it,’ +she went on, ‘but, oh, how dull! That Mr. Jenkins, I saw +him at your Commemoration. He gave us luncheon, and showed us +dry old bones of beasts and savage notions at the Museum. I <i>druther</i> +have been on the creek,’ by which name she intended the classical +river Isis.</p> +<p>‘Dr. Hiram P. Dodge is one of our rising scientists, a boss +of the Smithsonian Institute. Well, Washington is a finer location +than Oxford! Dr. Rustler is a crank; he thinks he can find a tall +talk mummy that speaks an unknown tongue.’</p> +<p><!-- page 217--><span class="pagenum">p. 217</span>‘A Toltec +mummy? Ah,’ said Bude, ‘I know where to find one of +<i>them</i>.’</p> +<p>‘Find it then, Alured!’ exclaimed Miss McCabe, blushing +scarlet and turning aside. ‘But you are not on the list. +You are an idler, and not scientific, not worth a red cent. There, +I’ve given myself away!’ She wept.</p> +<p>They were alone, beneath the walls of a crumbling fortalice of Lochiel. +The new risen moon saw Bude embrace her and dry her tears. A nameless +blissful hope awakened in the fair American; help there <i>must</i> +be, she thought, with these strong arms around her.</p> +<p>She rapidly disposed of the remaining names: of Howard Fry, who had +a red beard; of Professor Potter of St. Andrews, whose accent was Caledonian; +of Wilkinson, an ardent but unalluring scientist. ‘As for +Jones Harvey,’ she said, ‘I’ve canvassed everywhere, +and I can’t find anybody that ever saw him. I am more afraid +of him than of all the other galoots; I don’t know why.’</p> +<p>‘He is reckoned very learned,’ said Bude, ‘and +has not been thought ill-looking.’</p> +<p>‘Do tell!’ said Miss McCabe.</p> +<p>‘Oh, Melissa, can you even <i>dream</i> of another in an hour +like this?’</p> +<p>‘Did you ever see Jones Harvey?’</p> +<p>‘Yes, I have met him.’</p> +<p>‘Do you know him well?’</p> +<p>‘No man knows him better.’</p> +<p>‘Can’t you get him to stand out, and, Alured, can’t +you—fetch along that old tall talk mummy? He would hit our +people, being American himself.’</p> +<p><!-- page 218--><span class="pagenum">p. 218</span>‘It is impossible. +Jones Harvey will never stand out,’ and Bude smiled.</p> +<p>By the telepathy of the affections Miss McCabe was slowly informed, +especially as Bude’s smile widened almost unbecomingly, while +he gazed into the deeps of her golden eyes.</p> +<p>‘Alured,’ she exclaimed, ‘<i>that’s</i> why +you went to the States. <i>You</i>—are—Jones Harvey!’</p> +<p>‘Secret for secret,’ whispered the earl. ‘We +have both given ourselves away. Unknown to the world I <i>am</i> +Jones Harvey; to live for you: to love you: to dare; if need be, to +die for you.’</p> +<p>‘Well, you surprise me!’ said Miss McCabe.</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>The narrator is unwilling to dilate on the delights of a privileged +affection. In this love affair neither of the lovers could feel +absolutely certain that their affection <i>was</i> privileged. +The fair American had her own secret scheme if her hopes were blighted. +She <i>could</i> not then obey the paternal will: she would retire into +the life religious, and, as Sister Anna, would strive to forget the +sorrows of Melissa McCabe. Bude had his own hours of gloom.</p> +<p>‘It is a six-to-one chance,’ he said to Merton when they +met.</p> +<p>‘Better than that, I think,’ said Merton. ‘First, +you know exactly what you are entered for. Do the others? +When you saw the trustees in the States, did they tell you about the +prize?’</p> +<p>‘Not they. They spoke of a pecuniary reward which would +be eminently satisfactory, and of the opportunity for research and distinction, +and all expenses <!-- page 219--><span class="pagenum">p. 219</span>found. +I said that I preferred to pay my own way, which surprised and pleased +them a good deal.’</p> +<p>‘Well, then, knowing the facts, and the lady, you have a far +stronger motive than the other six.’</p> +<p>‘That’s true,’ said Bude.</p> +<p>‘Again, though the others are good men (not that I like Jenkins +of All Souls), none of them has your experience and knowledge. +Jones Harvey’s testimonials would carry it if it were a question +of election to a professorship.’</p> +<p>‘You flatter me,’ answered Bude.</p> +<p>‘<i>Lastly, did the trustees ask you if you were a married +man</i>?’</p> +<p>‘No, by Jove, they didn’t.’</p> +<p>‘Well, nothing about the competitors being unmarried men occurs +in the clause of McCabe’s last will and testament. He took +it for granted, the prize being what it is, that only bachelors were +eligible. But he forgot to say so, in so many words, and the trustees +did not go beyond the deed. Now, Dodge is married; Fry of Trinity +is a married don; Rustler (I happen to know) is an engaged man, who +can’t afford to marry a charming girl in Detroit, Michigan; and +Professor Potter has buried one wife, and wedded another. If Rustler +is loyal to his plighted word, you have nobody against you but Wilkinson +and old Jenkins of All Souls—a tough customer, I admit, though +what a Stinks man like him has to do at All Souls I don’t know.’</p> +<p>‘I say, this is hard on the other sportsmen! What ought +I to do? Should I tell them?’</p> +<p>‘You can’t: you have no official knowledge of their <!-- page 220--><span class="pagenum">p. 220</span>existence. +You only know through Miss McCabe. You have just to sit tight.’</p> +<p>‘It seems beastly unsportsmanlike,’ said Bude.</p> +<p>‘Wills are often most carelessly drafted,’ answered Merton, +‘and the usual consequences follow.’</p> +<p>‘It is not cricket,’ said Bude, and really he seemed +much more depressed than elated by the reduction of the odds against +him from 6 to 1 to 2 to 1.</p> +<p>This is the magnificent type of character produced by our British +system of athletic sports, though it is not to be doubted that the spirit +of Science, in the American gentlemen, would have been equally productive +of the sense of fair play.</p> +<p>* * * * * *</p> +<p>A year, by the terms of McCabe’s will, was allotted to the +quest. Candidates were to keep the trustees informed as to their +whereabouts. Six weeks before the end of the period the competitors +would be instructed as to the port of rendezvous, where an ocean liner, +chartered by the trustees, was to await them. Bude, as Jones Harvey, +had obtained leave to sail his own steam yacht of 800 tons.</p> +<p>The earl’s preparations were simple. He carried his usual +stock of scientific implements, his usual armament, including two Maxim +guns, and a package of considerable size and weight, which was stored +in the hold. As to the preparations of the others he knew nothing, +but Miss McCabe became aware that Rustler had not left the American +continent. Concerning Jenkins, and the probable aim of his enterprise, +the object of his quest, she gleaned information from a junior Fellow +of All Souls, who was her slave, <!-- page 221--><span class="pagenum">p. 221</span>was +indiscreet, and did not know how deeply concerned she was in the expeditions. +But she never whispered a word of what she knew to her lover, not even +in the hour of parting.</p> +<p>It was in an unnamed creek of the New Zealand coast, six weeks before +the end of the appointed year, that Bude received a telegram in cipher +from the trustees. Bearded, and in blue spectacles, clad rudely +as a mariner, Bude was to all, except Logan, who had accompanied him, +plain Jones Harvey. None could have recognised in his rugged aspect +the elegant aristocrat of Mayfair.</p> +<p>Bude took the message from the hands of the Maori bearer. As +he deciphered it his fingers trembled with eagerness. ‘Oh, +Heaven! Here is the Hand of Destiny!’ he exclaimed, when +he had read the message; and with pallid face he dropped into a deck-chair.</p> +<p>‘No bad news?’ asked Logan with anxiety.</p> +<p>‘The port of rendezvous,’ said Bude, much agitated. +‘Come down to my cabin.’</p> +<p>Entering the sumptuous cabin, Bude opened the locked door of a state-room, +and uttered some words in an unknown tongue. A tall and very ancient +Maori, tatooed with the native ‘Moka’ on every inch of his +body, emerged. The snows of some eighty winters covered his broad +breast and majestic head. His eyes were full of the secrets of +primitive races. For clothing he wore two navy revolvers stuck +in a waist-cloth.</p> +<p>‘Te-iki-pa,’ said Bude, in the Maori language, ‘watch +by the door, we must have no listeners, and <!-- page 222--><span class="pagenum">p. 222</span>your +ears are keen as those of the youngest Rangatira’ (warrior).</p> +<p>The august savage nodded, and, lying down on the floor, applied his +ear to the chink at its foot.</p> +<p>‘The port of tryst,’ whispered Bude to Logan, as they +seated themselves at the remotest extremity of the cabin, ‘is +in Cagayan Sulu.’</p> +<p>‘And where may that be?’ asked Logan, lighting a cigarette.</p> +<p>‘It is a small volcanic island, the most southerly of the Philippines.’</p> +<p>‘American territory now,’ said Logan. ‘But +what about it? If it was anybody but you, Bude, I should say he +was in a funk.’</p> +<p>‘I <i>am</i> in a funk,’ answered Bude simply.</p> +<p>‘Why?’</p> +<p>‘I have been there before and left—a blood-feud.’</p> +<p>‘What of it? We have one here, with the Maori King, about +you know what. Have we not the Maxims, and any quantity of Lee-Metfords? +Besides, you need not go ashore at Cagayan Sulu.’</p> +<p>‘But they can come aboard. Bullets won’t stop <i>them</i>.’</p> +<p>‘Stop whom? The natives?’</p> +<p>‘The Berbalangs: you might as well try to stop mosquitoes with +Maxims.’</p> +<p>‘Who are the Berbalangs then?’</p> +<p>Bude paced the cabin in haggard anxiety. ‘Least said, +soonest mended,’ he muttered.</p> +<p>‘Well, I don’t want your confidence,’ said Logan, +hurt.</p> +<p>‘My dear fellow,’ said Bude affectionately, ‘you +<!-- page 223--><span class="pagenum">p. 223</span>are likely to know +soon enough. In the meantime, please accept this.’</p> +<p>He opened a strong box, which appeared to contain jewellery, and +offered Logan a ring. Between two diamonds of the finest water +it contained a bizarre muddy coloured pearl. ‘Never let +that leave your finger,’ said Bude. ‘Your life may +hang on it.’</p> +<p>‘It is a pretty talisman,’ said Logan, placing the jewel +on the little finger of his right hand. ‘A token of some +friendly chief, I suppose, at Cagayan—what do you call it?’</p> +<p>‘Let us put it at that,’ answered Bude; ‘I must +take other precautions.’</p> +<p>It seemed to Logan that these consisted in making similar presents +to the officers and crew, all of whom were Englishmen. Te-iki-pa +displaced his nose-ring and inserted his pearl in the orifice previously +occupied by that ornament. A little chain of the pearls was hung +on the padlock of the huge packing-case, which was the special care +of Te-iki-pa.</p> +<p>‘Luckily I had the yacht’s painting altered before leaving +England,’ said Bude. ‘I’ll sail her under Spanish +colours, and perhaps they won’t spot her. Any way, with +the pearls—lucky I bought a lot—we ought to be safe enough. +But if any one of the competitors has gone for specimens of the Berbalangs, +I fear, I sadly fear, the consequences.’ His face clouded; +he fell into a reverie.</p> +<p>Logan made no reply, but puffed rings of cigarette smoke into the +still blue air. There was method in Bude’s apparent madness, +but Logan suspected that there was madness in his method.</p> +<p><!-- page 224--><span class="pagenum">p. 224</span>A certain coolness +had not ceased to exist between the friends when, after their long voyage, +they sighted the volcanic craters of the lonely isle of Cagayan Sulu +and beheld the Stars and Stripes waving from the masthead of the <i>George +Washington</i> (Captain Noah P. Funkal).</p> +<p>Logan landed, and noted the harmless but well-armed half-Mahometan +natives of the village. He saw the other competitors, whose ‘exhibits,’ +as Miss McCabe called them, were securely stored in the <i>George Washington</i>—strange +spoils of far-off mysterious forests, and unplumbed waters of the remotest +isles. Occasionally a barbaric yap, or a weird yell or hoot, was +wafted on the air at feeding time. Jenkins of All Souls (whom +he knew a little) Logan did not meet on the beach; he, like Bude, tarried +aboard ship. The other adventurers were civil but remote, and +there was a jealous air of suspicion on every face save that of Professor +Potter. He, during the day of waiting on the island, played golf +with Logan over links which he had hastily improvised. Beyond +admitting, as they played, that <i>his</i> treasure was in a tank, ‘and +as well as could be expected, poor brute, but awful noisy,’ Professor +Potter offered no information.</p> +<p>‘Our find is quiet enough,’ said Logan.</p> +<p>‘Does he give you trouble about food?’ asked Mr. Potter.</p> +<p>‘Takes nothing,’ said Logan, adding, as he holed out, +‘that makes me dormy two.’</p> +<p>From the rest of the competitors not even this amount of information +could be extracted, and as <!-- page 225--><span class="pagenum">p. 225</span>for +Captain Noah Funkal, he was taciturn, authoritative, and, Logan thought, +not in a very good temper.</p> +<p>The <i>George Washington</i> and the <i>Pendragon</i> (so Jones Harvey +had christened the yacht which under Bude’s colours sailed as +<i>The Sabrina</i>) weighed anchor simultaneously. If possible +they were not to lose sight of each other, and they corresponded by +signals and through the megalophone.</p> +<p>The hours of daylight on the first day of the return voyage passed +peacefully at deck-cricket, as far as Logan, Bude, and such of the officers +and men as could be spared were concerned. At last night came +‘at one stride,’ and the vast ocean plain was only illuminated +by the pale claritude that falls from the stars. Logan and Bude +(they had not dressed for dinner, but wore yachting suits) were smoking +on deck, when, quite suddenly, a loud, almost musical, roar or hum was +heard from the direction of the distant island.</p> +<p>‘What’s that?’ asked Logan, leaping up and looking +towards Cagayan Sulu.</p> +<p>‘The Berbalangs,’ said Bude coolly. ‘You +are wearing the ring I gave you?’</p> +<p>‘Yes, always do,’ said Logan, looking at his hand.</p> +<p>‘All the men have their pearls; I saw to that,’ said +Bude.</p> +<p>‘Why, the noise is dwindling,’ said Logan. ‘That +is odd; it seemed to be coming this way.’</p> +<p>‘So it is,’ said Bude; ‘the nearer they approach +the less you hear them. When they have come on board you won’t +hear them at all.’</p> +<p>Logan stared, but asked no more questions.</p> +<p><!-- page 226--><span class="pagenum">p. 226</span>The musical boom +as it approached had died to a whisper, and then had fallen into perfect +silence. At the very moment when the mysterious sound ceased, +a swarm of things like red fire-flies, a host of floating specks of +ruby light, invaded the deck in a cluster. The red points then +scattered, approached each man on board, and paused when within a yard +of his head or breast. Then they vanished. A queer kind +of chill ran down Logan’s spine; then the faint whispered musical +moan tingled in each man’s ears, and the sounds as they departed +eastwards gathered volume and force till, in a moment, there fell perfect +stillness.</p> +<p>Stillness, broken only by a sudden and mysterious chorus of animal +cries from the <i>George Washington</i>. A kind of wail, high, +shrieking, strenuous, ending in a noise as of air escaping from a pipe; +a torrent of barks such as no known beast could utter, subsiding into +moans that chilled the blood; a guttural scream, broken by heavy sounds +as if of water lapping on a rock at uncertain intervals; a human cry, +human words, with unfamiliar vowel sounds, soon slipping into quiet—these +were among the horrors that assailed the ears of the voyagers in the +<i>Pendragon</i>. Such a discord of laments has not tingled to +the indifferent stars since the ice-wave swept into their last retreats, +and crushed among the rocks that bear their fossil forms, the fauna +of the preglacial period, the Ichthyosaurus, the Brontosaurus, the Guyas +Cutis (or Ring-tailed Roarer), the Mastodon, and the Mammoth.</p> +<p>‘What a row in the menagerie!’ said Logan.</p> +<p><!-- page 227--><span class="pagenum">p. 227</span>He was not answered.</p> +<p>Bude had fallen into a deck-chair, his face buried in his hands, +his arms rocking convulsively.</p> +<p>‘I say, old cock, pull yourself together,’ said Logan, +and rushing down the companion stairs, he reappeared with a bottle of +champagne. To extract the cork (how familiar, how reassuring, +sounded the <i>cloop</i>!), and to pour the foaming beverage into two +long tumblers, was, to the active Logan, the work of a moment. +Shaking Bude, he offered him the beaker; the earl drained it at a draught. +He shuddered, but rose to his feet.</p> +<p>‘Not a man alive on that doomed vessel,’ he was saying, +when anew the still air was rent by the raucous notes of a megalophone:</p> +<p>‘Is <i>your</i> exhibit all right?’</p> +<p>‘Fit as a fiddle,’ answered Logan through a similar instrument.</p> +<p>‘Our exhibits are gone bust,’ answered Captain Noah Funkal. +‘Our professors are in fits. Our darkeys are all dead. +Can your skipper come aboard?’</p> +<p>‘Just launching a boat,’ cried Logan.</p> +<p>Bude gave the necessary orders. His captain stepped up to him +and saluted.</p> +<p>‘Do you know what these red fire-flies were that come aboard, +sir?’ he asked.</p> +<p>‘Fire-flies? Oh, <i>musæ volitantes sonoræ</i>, +a common phenomenon in these latitudes,’ answered Bude.</p> +<p>Logan rejoiced to see that the earl was himself again.</p> +<p>‘The other gentlemen’s scientific beasts don’t +seem to like them, sir?’</p> +<p><!-- page 228--><span class="pagenum">p. 228</span>‘So Captain +Funkal seems to imply,’ said Bude, and, taking the ropes, with +Logan beside him, while the <i>Pendragon</i> lay to, he steered the +boat towards the <i>George Washington</i>.</p> +<p>The captain welcomed them on deck in a scene of unusual character. +He himself had a revolver in one hand, and a belaying pin in the other; +he had been quelling, by the tranquillising methods of Captain Kettle, +a mutiny caused by the terror of the crew. The sailors had attempted +to leap overboard in the alarm caused by the invasion of the Berbalangs.</p> +<p>‘You will excuse my friend and myself for not being in evening +dress, during a visit at this hour,’ said Bude in the silkiest +of tones.</p> +<p>‘Glad to see you shipshape, gentlemen,’ answered the +American mariner. ‘My dudes of professors were prancing +round in Tuxedos and Prince Alberts when the darned fire-flies came +aboard.’</p> +<p>Bude bowed. Study of Miss McCabe had taught him that Tuxedos +and Prince Alberts mean evening dress and frock-coats.</p> +<p>‘Did <i>your</i> men have fits?’ asked the captain.</p> +<p>‘My captain, Captain Hardy, made a scientific inquiry about +the—insects,’ said Bude. ‘The crew showed no +emotion.’</p> +<p>‘I guess our fire-bugs were more on business than yours,’ +said Captain Funkal; ‘they’ve wrecked the exhibits, and +killed the darkeys with fright: except two, and <i>they</i> were exhibits +themselves. Will you honour me by stepping into my cabin, gentlemen. +I am glad to see sane white men to-night.’</p> +<p>Bude and Logan followed him through a scene of <!-- page 229--><span class="pagenum">p. 229</span>melancholy +interest. Beside the mast, within a shattered palisade, lay huddled +the vast corpse of the Mylodon of Patagonia, couchant amidst his fodder +of chopped hay. The expression of the huge animal was placid and +urbane in death. He was the victim of the ceaseless curiosity +of science. Two of the five-horned antelope giraffes of Central +Africa lay in a confused heap of horns and hoofs. Beside an immense +tank couched a figure in evening dress, swearing in a subdued tone. +Logan recognised Professor Potter. He gently laid his hand on +the Professor’s shoulder. The Scottish savant looked up:</p> +<p>‘It is a dommed mismanaged affair,’ he said. ‘I +could have brought the poor beast safe enough from the Clyde to New +York, but the Americans made me harl him round by yon island of camstairy +deevils,’ and he shook his fist in the direction of Cagayan Sulu.</p> +<p>‘What had you got?’ asked Logan.</p> +<p>‘The <i>Beathach na Loch na bheiste</i>,’ said Potter. +‘I drained the Loch to get him. Fortunately,’ he added, +‘it was at the expense of the Trust.’</p> +<p>After a few words of commonplace but heartfelt condolence, Logan +descended the companion, and followed Bude and Captain Funkal into the +cabin of that officer. The captain placed refreshments on the +table.</p> +<p>‘Now, gentlemen,’ he said, ‘you have seen the least +riled of my professors, and you can guess what the rest are like. +Professor Rustler is weeping in his cabin over a shrivelled old mummy. +“Never will he speak again,” says he, and I am bound to +say that I <i>hev</i> heard the critter discourse once. The mummy +<!-- page 230--><span class="pagenum">p. 230</span>let some awful yells +out of him when the fire-bugs came aboard.’</p> +<p>‘Yes, we heard a human cry,’ said Bude.</p> +<p>‘I had thought the talk was managed with a concealed gramophone,’ +said the captain, ‘but it wasn’t. The Bunyip from +Central Australia has gone to his long home. That was Professor +Wilkinson’s pet. There is nothing left alive out of the +lot but the natives that Professor Jenkins of England brought in irons +from Cagayan Sulu. I reckon them two niggers are somehow at the +bottom of the whole ruction.’</p> +<p>‘Indeed, and why?’ asked Bude.</p> +<p>‘Why, sir—I am addressing Professor Jones Harvey?’</p> +<p>Bude bowed. ‘Harvey, captain, but not professor—simple +amateur seaman and explorer.’</p> +<p>‘Sir, your hand,’ said the captain. ‘Your +friend is not a professor?’</p> +<p>‘Not I,’ said Logan, smiling.</p> +<p>The captain solemnly shook hands. ‘Gentlemen, you have +sand,’ he said, a supreme tribute of respect. ‘Well, +about these two natives. I never liked taking them aboard. +They are, in consequence of the triumph of our arms, American subjects, +natives of the conquered Philippines. I am no lawyer, and they +may be citizens, they may have votes. They are entitled, anyway, +to the protection of the Flag, and I would have entered them as steerage +passengers. But that Professor Jenkins (and the other professors +agreed) would have it that they came under the head of scientific exhibits. +And they did <!-- page 231--><span class="pagenum">p. 231</span>allow +that the critters were highly dangerous. I guess they were right.’</p> +<p>‘Why, what could they do?’</p> +<p>‘Well, gentlemen, I heard stories on shore that I took no stock +in. I am not a superstitious man, but they allowed that these +darkeys are not of a common tribe, but what the papers call “highly +developed mediums.” And I guess they are at the bottom of +the stramash.’</p> +<p>‘Captain Funkal, may I be frank with you?’ asked Bude.</p> +<p>‘I am hearing you,’ said the captain.</p> +<p>‘Then, to put it shortly, I have been at Cagayan Sulu before, +on an exploring cruise. That was in 1897. I never wanted +to go back to it. Logan, did I not regret the choice of that port +when the news reached us in New Zealand?’</p> +<p>Logan nodded. ‘You funked it,’ he said.</p> +<p>‘When I was at Cagayan Sulu in 1897 I heard from the natives +of a singular tribe in the centre of the island. This tribe is +the Berbalangs.’</p> +<p>‘That’s what Professor Jenkins called them,’ said +the captain.</p> +<p>‘The Berbalangs are subject to neither of the chiefs in the +island. No native will approach their village. They are +cannibals. The story is that they can throw themselves into a +kind of trance. They then project a something or other—spirit, +astral body, influence of some kind—which flies forth, making +a loud noise when distant.’</p> +<p>‘That’s what we heard,’ said the captain.</p> +<p>‘But is silent when they are close at hand.’</p> +<p><!-- page 232--><span class="pagenum">p. 232</span>‘Silent +they were,’ said the captain.</p> +<p>‘They then appear as points of red flame.’</p> +<p>‘That’s so,’ interrupted the captain.</p> +<p>‘And cause death to man and beast, apparently by terror. +I have seen,’ said Bude, shuddering, ‘the face of a dead +native of high respectability, into whose house, before my own eyes, +these points of flame had entered. I had to force the door, it +was strongly barred within. I never mentioned the fact before, +knowing that I could not expect belief.’</p> +<p>‘Well, sir, I believe you. You are a white man.’</p> +<p>Bude bowed, and went on. ‘The circumstances, though not +generally known, have been published, captain, by a gentleman of reputation, +Mr. Edward Forbes Skertchley, of Hong Kong. His paper indeed, +in the <i>Journal</i> of a learned association, the Asiatic Society +of Bengal, <a name="citation232"></a><a href="#footnote232">{232}</a>induced +me, most unfortunately, to visit Cagayan Sulu, when it was still nominally +in the possession of the Spaniards. My experience was similar +to that of Mr. Skertchley, but, for personal reasons, was much more +awful and distressing. One of the most beautiful of the island +girls, a person of most amiable and winning character, not, alas! of +my own faith’—Bude’s voice broke—‘was +one of the victims of the Berbalangs. . . . I loved her.’</p> +<p>He paused, and covered his face with his hands. The others +respected and shared his emotion. The captain, like all sailors, +sympathetic, dashed away a tear.</p> +<p><!-- page 233--><span class="pagenum">p. 233</span>‘One thing +I ought to add,’ said Bude, recovering himself, ‘I am no +more superstitious than you are, Captain Funkal, and doubtless science +will find a simple, satisfactory, and normal explanation of the facts, +the existence of which we are both compelled to admit. I have +heard of no well authenticated instance in which the force, whatever +it is, has been fatal to Europeans. The superstitious natives, +much as they dread the Berbalangs, believe that they will not attack +a person who wears a cocoa-nut pearl. Why this should be so, if +so it is, I cannot guess. But, as it is always well to be on the +safe side, I provided myself five years ago with a collection of these +objects, and when I heard that we were ordered to Cagayan Sulu I distributed +them among my crew. My friend, you may observe, wears one of the +pearls. I have several about my person.’ He disengaged +a pin from his necktie, a muddy pearl set with burning rubies. +‘Perhaps, Captain Funkal, you will honour me by accepting this +specimen, and wearing it while we are in these latitudes? If it +does no good, it can do no harm. We, at least, have not been molested, +though we witnessed the phenomena.’</p> +<p>‘Sir,’ said the captain, ‘I appreciate your kindness, +and I value your gift as a memorial of one of the most singular experiences +in a seafaring life. I drink your health and your friend’s. +Mr. Logan, to <i>you</i>.’ The captain pledged his guests.</p> +<p>‘And now, gentlemen, what am I to do?’</p> +<p>‘That, captain, is for your own consideration.’</p> +<p>‘I’ll carpet that lubber, Jenkins,’ said the captain, +and leaving the cabin, he returned with the Fellow of <!-- page 234--><span class="pagenum">p. 234</span>All +Souls. His shirt front was ruffled, his white neckcloth awry, +his pallid countenance betrayed a sensitive second-rate mind, not at +unity with itself. He nodded sullenly to Logan: Bude he did not +know.</p> +<p>‘Professor Jenkins, Mr. Jones Harvey,’ said the captain. +‘Sit down, sir. Take a drink; you seem to need one.’ +Jenkins drained the tumbler, and sat with downcast eyes, his finger +drumming nervously on the table.</p> +<p>‘Professor Jenkins, sir, I reckon you are the cause of the +unparalleled disaster to this exploring expedition. Why did you +bring these two natives of our territory on board, you well and duly +knowing that the end would not justify the proceedings?’ +A furtive glance from Jenkins lighted on the diamonds that sparkled +in Logan’s ring. He caught Logan’s hand.</p> +<p>‘Traitor!’ he cried. ‘What will not scientific +jealousy dare, that meanest of the passions!’</p> +<p>‘What the devil do you mean?’ said Logan angrily, wrenching +his hand away.</p> +<p>‘You leave Mr. Logan alone, sir,’ said the captain. +‘I have two minds to put you in irons, Mr. Professor Jenkins. +If you please, explain yourself.’</p> +<p>‘I denounce this man and his companion,’ said Jenkins, +noticing a pearl ring on Bude’s finger; ‘I denounce them +of conspiracy, mean conspiracy, against this expedition, and against +the American flag.’</p> +<p>‘As how?’ inquired the captain, lighting a cigar with +irritating calmness.</p> +<p>‘They wear these pearls, in which I had trusted for absolute +security against the Berbalangs.’</p> +<p><!-- page 235--><span class="pagenum">p. 235</span>‘Well, I +wear one too,’ said the captain, pointing to the pin in his necktie. +‘Are you going to tell me that <i>I</i> am a traitor to the flag, +sir? I warn you Professor, to be careful.’</p> +<p>‘What am I to think?’ asked Jenkins.</p> +<p>‘It is rather more important what you <i>say</i>,’ replied +the captain. ‘What is this fine conspiracy?’</p> +<p>‘I had read in England about the Berbalangs.’</p> +<p>‘Probably in Mr. Skertchley’s curious paper in the Journal +of the Asiatic Society of Bengal?’ asked Bude with suavity.</p> +<p>Jenkins merely stared at him.</p> +<p>‘I deemed that specimens of these American subjects, dowered +with their strange and baneful gift, were well worthy of the study of +American savants; and I knew that the pearls were a certain prophylactic.’</p> +<p>‘What’s that?’ asked the captain.</p> +<p>‘A kind of Universal Pain-Killer,’ said Jenkins.</p> +<p>‘Well, you surprise me,’ said the captain, ‘a man +of your education. Pain-Killer!’ and he expectorated dexterously.</p> +<p>‘I mean that the pearls keep off the Berbalangs,’ said +Jenkins.</p> +<p>‘Then why didn’t you lay in a stock of the pearls?’ +asked the captain.</p> +<p>‘Because these conspirators had been before me. These +men, or their agents, had bought up, just before our arrival, every +pearl in the island. They had wormed out my secret, knew the object +of my adventure, knew how to ruin us all, and I denounce them.’</p> +<p>‘A corner in pearls. Well, it was darned ’cute,’ +<!-- page 236--><span class="pagenum">p. 236</span>said the captain +impartially. ‘Now, Mr. Jones Harvey, and Mr. Logan, sir, +what have <i>you</i> to say?’</p> +<p>‘Did Mr. Jenkins—I think you said that this gentleman’s +name is Jenkins?—see the agent engaged in making this corner in +pearls, or learn his name?’ asked Bude.</p> +<p>‘He was an Irish American, one McCarthy,’ answered Jenkins +sullenly.</p> +<p>‘I am unacquainted with the gentleman,’ said Bude, ‘and +I never employed any one for any such purpose. My visit to Cagayan +Sulu was some years ago, just after that of Mr. Skertchley. Captain +Funkal, I have already acquainted you with the facts, and you were kind +enough to say that you accepted my statement.’</p> +<p>‘I did, sir, and I do,’ answered the captain. ‘As +for <i>you</i>,’ he went on, ‘Mr. Professor Jenkins, when +you found that your game was dangerous, indeed likely to be ruinous, +to this scientific expedition, and to the crew of the <i>George Washington</i>—damn +you, sir—you should have dropped it. I don’t know +that I ever swore at a passenger before, and I beg your pardon, you +two English gentlemen, for so far forgetting myself. I don’t +know, and these gentlemen don’t know, who made the corner, but +I don’t think our citizens want either you or your exhibits. +The whole population of the States, sir, not to mention the live stock, +cannot afford to go about wearing cocoa-nut pearls, a precaution which +would be necessary if I landed these venomous Berbalangs of yours on +our shores: man and wife too, likely to have a family of young Berbalangs. +Snakes are not a patch on these darkeys, and our coloured population, +at least, would be busted up.’</p> +<p><!-- page 237--><span class="pagenum">p. 237</span>The captain paused, +perhaps attracted by the chance of thus solving the negro problem.</p> +<p>‘So, I’ll tell you what it is, gentlemen; and, Professor +Jenkins, I’ll turn back and land these two native exhibits, and +I’ll put <i>you</i> on shore, Professor Jenkins, at Cagayan Sulu. +Perhaps before a steamer touches there—which is not once in a +blue moon—you’ll have had time to write an exhaustive monograph +on the Berbalangs, their manners and customs.’</p> +<p>Jenkins (who knew what awaited him) threw himself on the floor at +the feet of Captain Funkal. Horrified by the abject distress of +one who, after all, was their countryman, Bude and Logan induced the +captain to seclude Jenkins in his cabin. They then, by their combined +entreaties, prevailed on the officer to land the Berbalangs on their +own island, indeed, but to drop Jenkins later on civilised shores. +Dawn saw the <i>George Washington</i> and the <i>Pendragon</i> in the +port of Cagayan Sulu, where the fetters of the two natives, ill looking +people enough, were knocked off, and they themselves deposited on the +quay, where, not being popular, they were received by a hostile demonstration. +The two vessels then resumed their eastward course. The taxidermic +appliances without which Jones Harvey never sailed, and the services +of his staff of taxidermists, were placed at the disposal of his brother +savants. By this means a stuffed Mylodon, a stuffed Beathach, +stuffed five-horned antelopes and a stuffed Bunyip, with a common gorilla +and the Toltec mummy, now forever silent, were passed through the New +York Custom House, and consigned to the McCabe Museum of Natural Varieties.</p> +<p><!-- page 238--><span class="pagenum">p. 238</span>The immense case +that contained the discovery of Jones Harvey was also carefully conveyed +to an apartment prepared for it in the same repository. The competitors +sought their hotels, Te-iki-pa marching beside Logan and Jones Harvey. +But, by special arrangement, either Jones Harvey or his Maori ally always +slept beside their mysterious case, which they watched with passionate +attention. Two or three days were spent in setting up the stuffed +exhibits. Then the trustees, through <i>The Yellow Flag</i> (the +paper founded by the late Mr. McCabe), announced to the startled citizens +the nature of the competition. On successive days the vast theatre +of the McCabe Museum would be open, and each competitor, in turn, would +display to the public his contribution, and lecture on his adventures +and on the variety of nature which he had secured.</p> +<p>While the death of the animals was deplored, nothing was said, for +obvious reasons, about the causes of the catastrophe.</p> +<p>The general excitement was intense. Interviewers scoured the +city, and flocked, to little purpose, around the officials of the McCabe +Museum. Special trains were run from all quarters. The hotels +were thronged. ‘America,’ it was announced, ‘had +taken hold of science, and was just going to make science hum.’</p> +<p>On the first day of the exhibition, Dr. Hiram Dodge displayed the +stuffed Mylodon. The agitation was unprecedented. America +had bred, in ancient days, and an American citizen had discovered, the +monstrous yet amiable animal whence prehistoric Patagonia drew <!-- page 239--><span class="pagenum">p. 239</span>her +milk supplies and cheese stuffs. Mr. Dodge’s adventures, +he modestly said, could only be adequately narrated by Mr. Rider Haggard. +Unluckily the Mylodon had not survived the conditions of the voyage, +the change of climates. The applause was thunderous. Mr. +Dodge gracefully expressed his obligations to his fair and friendly +rival, Mr. Jones Harvey, who had loaned his taxidermic appliances. +It did not appear to the public that the Mylodon could be excelled in +interest. The Toltec mummy, as he could no longer talk, was flat +on a falling market, nor was Mr. Rustler’s narrative of its conversational +powers accepted by the scepticism of the populace, though it was corroborated +by Captain Funkal, Professor Dodge, and Professor Wilkinson, who swore +affidavits before a notary, within the hearing of the multitude. +The Beathach, exhibited by Professor Potter, was reckoned of high anatomical +interest by scientific characters, but it was not of American habitat, +and left the people relatively cold. On the other hand, all the +Macleans and Macdonnells of Canada and Nova Scotia wept tears of joy +at the corroboration of their tribal legends, and the popularity of +Professor Potter rivalled even that of Mr. Ian Maclaren. He was +at once engaged by Major Pond for a series of lectures. The adventures +of Howard Fry, in the taking of his gorilla, were reckoned interesting, +as were those of the captor of the Bunyip, but both animals were now +undeniably dead. The people could not feed them with waffles and +hominy cakes in the gardens of the institute. The savants wrangled +on the anatomical differences and <!-- page 240--><span class="pagenum">p. 240</span>resemblances +of the Bunyip and the Beathach; still the critters were, to the general +mind, only stuffed specimens, though unique. The African five-horned +brutes (though in quieter times they would have scored a triumph) did +not now appeal to the heart of the people.</p> +<p>At last came the day when, in the huge crowded amphitheatre, with +Te-iki-pa by his side, Jones Harvey addressed the congregation. +First he exhibited a skeleton of a dinornis, a bird of about twenty-five +feet in height.</p> +<p>‘Now,’ he went on, ‘thanks to the assistance of +a Maori gentleman, my friend the Tohunga Te-iki-pa’—(cheers, +Te-iki bows his acknowledgments)—‘I propose to exhibit to +you <i>this</i>.’</p> +<p>With a touch on the mechanism he unrolled the valves of a gigantic +incubator. Within, recumbent on cotton wool, the almost frenzied +spectators perceived two monstrous eggs, like those of the Roc of Arabian +fable. Te-iki-pa now chanted a brief psalm in his own language. +One of the eggs rolled gently in its place; then the other. A +faint crackling noise was heard, first from one, then from the other +egg. From each emerged the featherless head of a fowl—the +species hitherto unknown to the American continent. The necks +pushed forth, then the shoulders, then both shells rolled away in fragments, +and the spectators gazed on two fledgling Moas. Te-iki-pa, on +inspection, pronounced them to be cock and hen, and in healthy condition. +The breed, he said, could doubtless be acclimatised.</p> +<p>The professors of the museum, by Jones Harvey’s <!-- page 241--><span class="pagenum">p. 241</span>request, +then closely examined the chickens. There could be no doubt of +it, they unanimously asserted: these specimens were living deinornithe +(which for scientific men, is not a bad shot at the dual of deinornis). +The American continent was now endowed, through the enterprise of Mr. +Jones Harvey, not only with living specimens, but with a probable breed +of a species hitherto thought extinct.</p> +<p>The cheering was led by Captain Funkal, who waved the Stars and Stripes +and the Union Jack. Words cannot do justice to the scene. +Women fainted, strong men wept, enemies embraced each other. For +details we must refer to the files of <i>The Yellow Flag</i>. +A <i>plébiscite</i> to select the winner of the McCabe Prize +was organised by that Journal. The Moas (bred and exhibited by +Mr, Jones Harvey) simply romped in, by 1,732,901 votes, the Mylodon +being a bad second, thanks to the Irish vote.</p> +<p>Bude telegraphed ‘Victory,’ and Miss McCabe by cable +answered ‘Bully for us.’</p> +<p>The secret of these lovers was well kept. None who watches +the fascinating Countess of Bude as she moves through the gilded saloons +of Mayfair guesses that her hand was once the prize of success in a +scientific exploration. The identity of Jones Harvey remains a +puzzle to the learned. For the rest, a letter in which Jenkins +told the story of the Berbalangs was rejected by the Editor of <i>Nature</i>, +and has not yet passed even the Literary Committee of the Society for +Psychical Research. The classical authority on the Berbalangs +is still the paper <!-- page 242--><span class="pagenum">p. 242</span>by +Mr. Skertchley in the <i>Journal</i> of the Asiatic Society of Bengal. +<a name="citation242"></a><a href="#footnote242">{242}</a>The scientific +gentlemen who witnessed the onslaught of the Berbalangs have convinced +themselves (except Jenkins) that nothing of the sort occurred in their +experience. The evidence of Captain Funkal is rejected as ‘marine.’</p> +<p>Te-iki-pa decided to remain in New York as custodian of the Moas. +He occasionally obliges by exhibiting a few feats of native conjuring, +when his performances are attended by the <i>élite</i> of the +city. He knows that his countrymen hold him in feud, but he is +aware that they fear even more than they hate the ex-medicine man of +his Maori Majesty.</p> +<p>The generosity of Bude and his Countess heaped rewards on Merton, +who vainly protested that his services had not been professional.</p> +<p>The frequent appearance of new American novelists, whose works sell +250,000 copies in their first month, demonstrate that Mr. McCabe’s +scheme for raising the level of genius has been as satisfactory as it +was original. Genius is riz.</p> +<p>But who ‘cornered’ the muddy pearls in Cagayan Sulu?</p> +<p>That secret is only known to Lady Bude, her confessor, and the Irish-American +agent whom she employed. For she, as we saw, had got at the nature +of poor Jenkins’s project and had acquainted herself with the +wonderful properties of the pearls, which she cornered.</p> +<p><!-- page 243--><span class="pagenum">p. 243</span>As a patriot, +she consoles herself for the loss of the other exhibits to her country, +by the reflection that Berbalangs would have been the most mischievous +of pauper immigrants. But of all this Bude knows nothing.</p> +<h2><!-- page 244--><span class="pagenum">p. 244</span>XI. ADVENTURE +OF THE MISERLY MARQUIS</h2> +<h3>I. The Marquis consults Gray and Graham</h3> +<p>Few men were, and perhaps no marquis was so unpopular as the Marquis +of Restalrig, Logan’s maternal Scotch cousin, widely removed. +He was the last of his family, in the direct line, and on his death +almost all his vast wealth would go to nobody knew where. To be +sure Logan himself would succeed to the title of Fastcastle, which descends +to heirs general, but nothing worth having went with the title. +Logan had only the most distant memory of seeing the marquis when he +himself was a little boy, and the marquis gave him two sixpences. +His relationship to his opulent though remote kinsman had been of no +service to him in the struggle for social existence. It carried +no ‘expectations,’ and did not afford the most shadowy basis +for a post obit. There was no entail, the marquis could do as +he liked with his own.</p> +<p>‘The Jews <i>may</i> have been credulous in the time of Horace,’ +Logan said, ‘but now they insist on the most drastic evidence +of prospective wealth. No, they won’t lend me a shekel.’</p> +<p>Events were to prove that other financial operators were better informed +than the chosen people, though <!-- page 245--><span class="pagenum">p. 245</span>to +be sure their belief was displayed in a manner at once grotesque and +painfully embarrassing.</p> +<p>Why the marquis was generally disliked we might explain, historically, +if we were acquainted with the tale of his infancy, early youth, and +adolescence. Perhaps he had been betrayed in his affections, and +was ‘taking it out’ of mankind in general. But this +notion implies that the marquis once had some affections, a point not +hitherto substantiated by any evidence. Perhaps heredity was to +blame, some unhappy blend of parentage. An ancestor at an unknown +period may have bequeathed to the marquis the elements of his unalluring +character. But the only ancestor of marked temperament was the +festive Logan of Restalrig, who conspired over his cups to kidnap a +king, laid out his plot on the lines of an Italian novel, and died without +being detected. This heroic ancestor admitted that he hated ‘arguments +derived from religion,’ and, so far, the Marquis of Restalrig +was quite with him, if the arguments bore on giving to the poor, or, +indeed, to any one.</p> +<p>In fact the marquis was that unpopular character, a miser. +Your miser may be looked up to, in a way, as an ideal votary of Mammon, +but he is never loved. On his vast possessions, mainly in coal-fields, +he was even more detested than the ordinary run of capitalists. +The cottages and farmhouses on his estates were dilapidated and insanitary +beyond what is endurable. Of his many mansions, some were kept +in decent repair, because he drew many shillings from tourists admitted +to view them. But his favourite abode was almost as ruinous as +his cottages, and an artist in <!-- page 246--><span class="pagenum">p. 246</span>search +of a model for the domestic interior of the Master of Ravenswood might +have found what he wanted at Kirkburn, the usual lair of this avaricious +nobleman. It was a keep of the sixteenth century, and looked as +if it had never been papered or painted since Queen Mary’s time. +But it was near the collieries; and within its blackened walls, and +among its bleak fields and grimy trees, Lord Restalrig chose to live +alone, with an old man and an old woman for his attendants. The +woman had been his nurse; it was whispered in the district that she +was also his illegal-aunt, or perhaps even, so to speak, his illegal +stepmother. At all events, she endured more than anybody but a +Scotch woman who had been his nurse in childhood would have tolerated. +To keep her in his service saved him the cost of a pension, which even +the marquis, people thought, could hardly refuse to allow her. +The other old servitor was her husband, and entirely under her domination. +Both might be reckoned staunch, in the old fashion, ‘to the name,’ +which Logan only bore by accident, his grandmother having wedded a kinless +Logan who had no demonstrable connection with the house of Restalrig. +Any mortal but the marquis would probably have brought Logan up as his +heir, for the churlish peer had no nearer connection. But the +marquis did more than sympathise with the Roman emperor who quoted ‘after +me the Last Day.’ The emperor only meant that, after his +time, he did not care how soon earth and fire were mingled. The +marquis, on the other hand, gave the impression that, he once out of +the way, he ardently desired the destruction of the <!-- page 247--><span class="pagenum">p. 247</span>whole +human race. He was not known ever to have consciously benefited +man or woman. He screwed out what he might from everybody in his +power, and made no returns which the law did not exact; even these, +as far as the income tax went, he kept at the lowest figure possible.</p> +<p>Such was the distinguished personage whose card was handed to Merton +one morning at the office. There had been no previous exchange +of letters, according to the rules of the Society, and yet Merton could +not suppose that the marquis wished to see him on any but business matters. +‘He wants to put a spoke in somebody’s wheel,’ thought +Merton, ‘but whose?’</p> +<p>He hastily scrawled a note for Logan, who, as usual, was late, put +it in an envelope, and sealed it. He wrote: ‘<i>On no account +come in</i>. <i>Explanation later</i>! Then he gave the +note to the office boy, impressed on him the necessity of placing it +in Logan’s hands when he arrived, and told the boy to admit the +visitor.</p> +<p>The marquis entered, clad in rusty black not unlike a Scotch peasant’s +best raiment as worn at funerals. He held a dripping umbrella; +his boots were muddy, his trousers had their frayed ends turned up. +He wore a hard, cruel red face, with keen grey eyes beneath penthouses +where age had touched the original tawny red with snow. Merton, +bowing, took the umbrella and placed it in a stand.</p> +<p>‘You’ll not have any snuff?’ asked the marquis.</p> +<p>Trevor had placed a few enamelled snuff-boxes of the eighteenth century +among the other costly <i>bibelots</i> <!-- page 248--><span class="pagenum">p. 248</span>in +the rooms, and, by an unusual chance, one of them actually did contain +what the marquis wanted. Merton opened it and handed it to the +peer, who, after trying a pinch on his nostrils, poured a quantity into +his hand and thence into a little black mull made of horn, which he +took from his breast pocket. ‘It’s good,’ he +said. ‘Better than I get at Kirkburn. You’ll +know who I am?’ His accent was nearly as broad as that of +one of his own hinds, and he sometimes used Scottish words, to Merton’s +perplexity.</p> +<p>‘Every one has heard of the Marquis of Restalrig,’ said +Merton.</p> +<p>‘Ay, and little to his good, I’ll be bound?’</p> +<p>‘I do not listen to gossip,’ said Merton. ‘I +presume, though you have not addressed me by letter, that your visit +is not unconnected with business?’</p> +<p>‘No, no, no letters! I never was wasteful in postage +stamps. But as I was in London, to see the doctor, for the Edinburgh +ones can make nothing of the case—a kind of dwawming—I looked +in at auld Nicky Maxwell’s. She gave me a good character +of you, and she is one to lippen to. And you make no charge for +a first interview.’</p> +<p>Merton vaguely conjectured that to ‘lippen’ implied some +sort of caress; however, he only said that he was obliged to Miss Maxwell +for her kind estimate of his firm.</p> +<p>‘Gray and Graham, good Scots names. You’ll not +be one of the Grahams of Netherby, though?’</p> +<p>‘The name of the firm is merely conventional, a trading title,’ +said Merton; ‘if you want to know my <!-- page 249--><span class="pagenum">p. 249</span>name, +there it is,’ and he handed his card to the marquis, who stared +at it, and (apparently from motiveless acquisitiveness) put it into +his pocket.</p> +<p>‘I don’t like an alias,’ he said. ‘But +it seems you are to lippen to.’</p> +<p>From the context Merton now understood that the marquis probably +wished to signify that he was to be trusted. So he bowed, and +expressed a hope that he was ‘all that could be desired in the +lippening way.’</p> +<p>‘You’re laughing at my Doric?’ asked the nobleman. +‘Well, in the only important way, it’s not at my <i>expense</i>. +Ha! Ha!’ He shook a lumbering laugh out of himself.</p> +<p>Merton smiled—and was bored.</p> +<p>‘I’m come about stopping a marriage,’ said the +marquis, at last arriving at business.</p> +<p>‘My experience is at your service,’ said Merton.</p> +<p>‘Well,’ went on the marquis, ‘ours is an old name.’</p> +<p>Merton remarked that, in the course of historical study, he had made +himself acquainted with the achievements of the house.</p> +<p>‘Auld warld tales! But I wish I could tell where the +treasure is that wily auld Logan quarrelled over with the wizard Laird +of Merchistoun. Logan would not implement the contract—half +profits. But my wits are wool gathering.’</p> +<p>He began to wander round the room, looking at the mezzotints. +He stopped in front of one portrait, and said ‘My Aunt!’ +Merton took this for an exclamation of astonishment, but later found +that the lady (after Lawrence) really had been the great aunt of the +marquis.</p> +<p><!-- page 250--><span class="pagenum">p. 250</span>Merton conceived +that the wits of his visitor were worse than ‘wool gathering,’ +that he had ‘softening of the brain.’ But circumstances +presently indicated that Lord Restalrig was actually suffering from +a much less common disorder—softening of the heart.</p> +<p>He returned to his seat, and helped himself to snuff out of the enamelled +gold box, on which Merton deemed it politic to keep a watchful eye.</p> +<p>‘Man, I’m sweir’ (reluctant) ‘to come to +the point,’ said Lord Restalrig.</p> +<p>Merton erroneously understood him to mean that he was under oath +or vow to come to the point, and showed a face of attention.</p> +<p>‘I’m not the man I was. The doctors don’t +understand my case—they take awful fees—but I see they think +ill of it. And that sets a body thinking. Have you a taste +of brandy in the house?’</p> +<p>As the visitor’s weather-beaten ruddiness had changed to a +ghastly ashen hue, rather bordering on the azure, Merton set forth the +liqueur case, and drew a bottle of soda water.</p> +<p>‘No water,’ said the peer; ‘it’s just ma +twal’ ours, an auld Scotch fashion,’ and he took without +winking an orthodox dram of brandy. Then he looked at the silver +tops of the flasks.</p> +<p>‘A good coat!’ he said. ‘Yours?’</p> +<p>Merton nodded.</p> +<p>‘Ye quarter the Douglas Heart. A good coat. Dod, +I’ll speak plain. The name, Mr. Merton, when ye come to +the end o’ the furrow, the name is all ye have left. We +brought nothing into the world but the name, we take out nothing else. +A sore dispensation. <!-- page 251--><span class="pagenum">p. 251</span>I’m +not the man I was, not this two years. I must dispone, I know +it well. Now the name, that I thought that I cared not an empty +whistle for, is worn to a rag, but I cannot leave it in the mire. +There’s just one that bears it, one Logan by name, and true Logan +by the mother’s blood. The mother’s mother, my cousin, +was a bonny lass.’</p> +<p>He paused; his enfeebled memory was wandering, no doubt, in scenes +more vivid to him than those of yesterday.</p> +<p>Merton was now attentive indeed. The miserly marquis had become, +to him, something other than a curious survival of times past. +There was a chance for Logan, his friend, the last of the name, but +Logan was firmly affianced to Miss Markham, of the cloak department +at Madame Claudine’s. And the marquis, as he said, ‘had +come about stopping a marriage,’ and Merton was to help him in +stopping it, in disentangling Logan!</p> +<p>The old man aroused himself. ‘I have never seen the lad +but once, when he was a bairn. But I’ve kept eyes on him. +He <i>has</i> nothing, and since I came to London I hear that he has +gone gyte, I mean—ye’ll not understand me—he is plighted +to a long-legged shop-lass, the daughter of a ne’er-do-well Australian +land-louper, a doctor. This must not be. Now I’ll +speak plain to you, plainer than to Tod and Brock, my doers—ye +call them lawyers. <i>They</i> did not make my will.’</p> +<p>Merton prevented himself, by an effort, from gasping. He kept +a countenance of cold attention. But the marquis was coming to +the point.</p> +<p><!-- page 252--><span class="pagenum">p. 252</span>‘I have +left all to the name, lands and rents, and mines, and money. But, +unless the lad marries in his own rank, I’ll change my will. +It’s in the hidie hole at Kirkburn, that Logan built to keep King +Jamie in, when he caught him. But the fool Ruthvens marred that +job, and got their kail through the reek. I’m wandering.’ +He helped himself to another dram, and went on, ‘Ye see what I +want, ye must stop that marriage.’</p> +<p>‘But,’ said Merton, ‘as you are so kindly disposed +towards your kinsman, this Mr. Logan, may I ask whether it would not +be wise to address him yourself, as the head of his house? He +may, surely he will, listen to your objections.’</p> +<p>‘Ye do not know the Logans.’</p> +<p>Merton concealed his smile.</p> +<p>‘Camstairy deevils! It’s in the blood. Never +once has he asked me for a pound, never noticed me by word or letter. +Faith, I wish all the world had been as considerate to auld Restalrig! +For me to say a word, let be to make an offer, would just tie him faster +to the lass. “Tyne troth, tyne a’,” that is +the old bye-word.’</p> +<p>Merton recognised his friend in this description, but he merely shook +a sympathetic head. ‘Very unusual,’ he remarked. +‘You really have no hope by this method?’</p> +<p>‘None at all, or I would not be here on this daft ploy. +There’s no fool like an auld fool, and, faith, I hardly know the +man I was. But they cannot dispute the will. I drew doctors +to witness that I was of sound and disponing mind, and I’ve since +been <!-- page 253--><span class="pagenum">p. 253</span>thrice to kirk +and market. Lord, how they stared to see auld Restalrig in his +pew, that had not smelt appleringie these forty years.’</p> +<p>Merton noted these words, which he thought curious and obscure. +‘Your case interests me deeply,’ he said, ‘and shall +receive my very best attention. You perceive, of course, that +it is a difficult case, Mr. Logan’s character and tenacity being +what you describe. I must make careful inquiries, and shall inform +you of progress. You wish to see this engagement ended?’</p> +<p>‘And the lad on with a lass of his rank,’ said the marquis.</p> +<p>‘Probably that will follow quickly on the close of his present +affection. It usually does in our experience,’ said Merton, +adding, ‘Am I to write to you at your London address?’</p> +<p>‘No, sir; these London hotels would ruin the cunzie’ +(the Mint).</p> +<p>Merton wondered whether the Cunzie was the title of some wealthy +Scotch peer.</p> +<p>‘And I’m off for Kirkburn by the night express. +Here’s wishing luck,’ and the old sinner finished the brandy.</p> +<p>‘May I call a cab for you—it still rains?’</p> +<p>‘No, no, I’ll travel,’ by which the economical +peer meant that he would walk.</p> +<p>He then shook Merton by the hand, and hobbled downstairs attended +by his adviser.</p> +<p>‘Did Mr. Logan call?’ Merton asked the office boy when +the marquis had trotted off.</p> +<p>‘Yes, sir; he said you would find him at the club.’</p> +<p><!-- page 254--><span class="pagenum">p. 254</span>‘Call a +hansom,’ said Merton, ‘and put up the notice, “out.”’ +He drove to the club, where he found Logan ordering luncheon.</p> +<p>‘Hullo, shall we lunch together?’ Logan asked.</p> +<p>‘Not yet: I want to speak to you.’</p> +<p>‘Nothing gone wrong? Why did you shut me out of the office?’</p> +<p>‘Where can we talk without being disturbed?’</p> +<p>‘Try the smoking-room on the top storey,’ said Logan, +‘Nobody will have climbed so high so early.’</p> +<p>They made the ascent, and found the room vacant: the windows looked +out over swirling smoke and trees tossing in a wind of early spring.</p> +<p>‘Quiet enough,’ said Logan, taking an arm-chair. +‘Now out with it! You make me quite nervous.’</p> +<p>‘A client has come with what looks a promising piece of business. +We are to disentangle—’</p> +<p>‘A royal duke?’</p> +<p>‘No. <i>You</i>!’</p> +<p>‘A practical joke,’ said Logan. ‘Somebody +pulling your leg, as people say, a most idiotic way of speaking. +What sort of client was he, or she? We’ll be even with them.’</p> +<p>‘The client’s card is here,’ said Merton, and he +handed to Logan that of the Marquis of Restalrig.</p> +<p>‘You never saw him before; are you sure it was the man?’ +asked Logan, staggered in his scepticism.</p> +<p>‘A very good imitation. Dressed like a farmer at a funeral. +Talked like all the kailyards. Snuffed, and asked for brandy, +and went and came, walking, in this weather.’</p> +<p><!-- page 255--><span class="pagenum">p. 255</span>‘By Jove, +it is my venerated cousin. And he had heard about me and Miss +---’</p> +<p>‘He was quite well informed.’</p> +<p>Logan looked very grave. He rose and stared out of the window +into the mist. Then he came back, and stood beside Merton’s +chair. He spoke in a low voice:</p> +<p>‘This can only mean one thing.’</p> +<p>‘Only that one thing,’ said Merton, dropping his own +voice.</p> +<p>‘What did you say to him?’</p> +<p>‘I told him that his best plan, as the head of the house, was +to approach you himself.’</p> +<p>‘And he said?’</p> +<p>‘That it was of no use, and that I do not know the Logans.’</p> +<p>‘But you do?’</p> +<p>‘I think so.’</p> +<p>‘You think right. No, not for all his lands and mines +I won’t.’</p> +<p>‘Not for the name?’</p> +<p>‘Not for the kingdoms of the earth,’ said Logan.</p> +<p>‘It is a great refusal.’</p> +<p>‘I have really no temptation to accept,’ said Logan. +‘I am not built that way. So what next? If the old +boy could only see her—’</p> +<p>‘I doubt if that would do any good, though, of course, if I +were you I should think so. He goes north to-night. You +can’t take the lady to Kirkburn. And you can’t write +to him.’</p> +<p>‘Of course not,’ said Logan; ‘of course it would +be all up if he knew that I know.’</p> +<p><!-- page 256--><span class="pagenum">p. 256</span>‘There is +this to be said—it is not a very pleasant view to take—he +can’t live long. He came to see some London specialist—it +is his heart, I think—’</p> +<p>‘<i>His</i> heart!</p> +<blockquote><p>How Fortune aristophanises<br /> +And how severe the fun of Fate!’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>quoted Logan.</p> +<p>‘The odd thing is,’ said Merton, ‘that I do believe +he has a heart. I rather like him. At all events, I think, +from what I saw, that a sudden start might set him off at any moment, +or an unusual exertion. And he may go off before I tell him that +I can do nothing with you—’</p> +<p>‘Oh, hang that,’ said Logan, ‘you make me feel +like a beastly assassin!’</p> +<p>‘I only want you to understand how the land lies.’ +Merton dropped his voice again, ‘He has made a will leaving you +everything.’</p> +<p>‘Poor old cock! Look here, I believe I had better write, +and say that I’m awfully touched and obliged, but that I can’t +come into his views, or break my word, and then, you know, he can just +make another will. It would be a swindle to let him die, and come +into his property, and then go dead against his wishes.’</p> +<p>‘But it would be all right to give me away, I suppose, and +let him understand that I had violated professional confidence?’</p> +<p>‘Only with a member of the firm. That is no violation.’</p> +<p>‘But then I should have told him that you <i>were</i> a member +of the firm.’</p> +<p><!-- page 257--><span class="pagenum">p. 257</span>‘I’m +afraid you should.’</p> +<p>‘Logan, you have the ideas of a schoolboy. I <i>had</i> +to be certain as to how you would take it, though, of course, I had +a very good guess. And as to what you say about the chances of +his dying and leaving everything where he would not have left it if +he had been sure you would act against his wishes—I believe you +are wrong. What he really cares about is “the name.” +His ghost will put up with your disobedience if the name keeps its old +place. Do you see?’</p> +<p>‘Perhaps you are right,’ said Logan.</p> +<p>‘Anyhow, there is no such pressing hurry. One <i>may</i> +bring him round with time. A curious old survival! I did +not understand all that he said. There was something about having +been thrice at kirk and market since he made his will; and something +about not having smelled appleringie for forty years. What is +appleringie?’</p> +<p>Logan laughed.</p> +<p>‘It is a sacred Presbyterian herb. The people keep it +in their Bibles and it perfumes the churches. But look here—’</p> +<p>He was interrupted by the entrance of a page, who handed to him a +letter. Logan read it and laughed. ‘I knew it; they +are sharp!’ he said, and handed the letter to Merton. It +was from a famous, or infamous, money-lender, offering princely accommodation +on terms which Mr. Logan would find easy and reasonable.</p> +<p>‘They have nosed the appleringie, you see,’ he said.</p> +<p>‘But I don’t see,’ said Merton.</p> +<p><!-- page 258--><span class="pagenum">p. 258</span>‘Why the +hounds have heard that the old nobleman has been thrice to kirk lately. +And as he had not been there for forty years, they have guessed that +he has been making his will. Scots law has, or used to have, something +in it about going thrice to kirk and market after making a will—disponing +they call it—as a proof of bodily and mental soundness. +So they have spotted the marquis’s pious motives for kirk-going, +and guessed that I am his heir. I say—’ Logan +began to laugh wildly.</p> +<p>‘What do you say?’ asked Merton, but Logan went on hooting.</p> +<p>‘I say,’ he repeated, ‘it must never be known that +the old lord came to consult us,’ and here he was again convulsed.</p> +<p>‘Of course not,’ said Merton. ‘But where +is the joke?’</p> +<p>‘Why, don’t you see—oh, it is too good—he +has taken every kind of precaution to establish his sanity when he made +his will.’</p> +<p>‘He told me that he had got expert evidence,’ said Merton.</p> +<p>‘And then he comes and consults US!’ said Logan, with +a crow of laughter. ‘If any fellow wants to break the will +on the score of insanity, and knows, knows he came to us, a jury, when +they find he consulted us, will jolly well upset the cart.’ +Merton was hurt.</p> +<p>‘Logan,’ he said, ‘it is you who ought to be in +an asylum, an Asylum for Incurable Children. Don’t you see +that he made the will long <i>before</i> he took the very natural and +proper step of consulting Messrs. Gray and Graham?’</p> +<p><!-- page 259--><span class="pagenum">p. 259</span>‘Let us +pray that, if there is a suit, it won’t come before a Scotch jury,’ +said Logan. ‘Anyhow, nobody knows that he came except you +and me.’</p> +<p>‘And the office boy,’ said Merton.</p> +<p>‘Oh, we’ll square the office boy,’ said Logan. +‘Let’s lunch!’</p> +<p>They lunched, and Logan, as was natural, though Merton urged him +to abstain, hung about the doors of Madame Claudine’s emporium +at the hour when the young ladies returned to their homes. He +walked home with Miss Markham. He told her about his chances, +and his views, and no doubt she did not think him a person of schoolboy +ideas, but a Bayard.</p> +<p>Two days passed, and in the afternoon of the third a telegram arrived +for Logan from Kirkburn.</p> +<p>‘<i>Come at once</i>, <i>Marquis very ill. Dr. Douglas</i>, +<i>Kirkburn</i>.’</p> +<p>There was no express train North till 8.45 in the evening. +Merton dined with Logan at King’s Cross, and saw him off. +He would reach his cousin’s house at about six in the morning +if the train kept time.</p> +<p>About nine o’clock on the morning following Logan’s arrival +at Kirkburn Merton was awakened: the servant handed to him a telegram.</p> +<p>‘<i>Come instantly. Highly important. Logan</i>, +<i>Kirkburn</i>.’</p> +<p>Merton dressed himself more rapidly than he had ever done, and caught +the train leaving King’s Cross at 10 a.m.</p> +<h3><!-- page 260--><span class="pagenum">p. 260</span>II. The +Emu’s Feathers</h3> +<p>The landscape through which Merton passed on his northward way to +Kirkburn, whither Logan had summoned him, was blank with snow. +The snow was not more than a couple of inches deep where it had not +drifted, and, as frost had set in, it was not likely to deepen. +There was no fear of being snowed up.</p> +<p>Merton naturally passed a good deal of his time in wondering what +had occurred at Kirkburn, and why Logan needed his presence. ‘The +poor old gentleman has passed away suddenly, I suppose,’ he reflected, +‘and Logan may think that I know where he has deposited his will. +It is in some place that the marquis called “the hidie hole,” +and that, from his vagrant remarks, appears to be a secret chamber, +as his ancestor meant to keep James VI. there. I wish he had cut +the throat of that prince, a bad fellow. But, of course, I don’t +know where the chamber is: probably some of the people about the place +know, or the lawyer who made the will.’</p> +<p>However freely Merton’s consciousness might play round the +problem, he could get no nearer to its solution. At Berwick he +had to leave the express, and take a local train. In the station, +not a nice station, he was accosted by a stranger, who asked if he was +Mr. Merton? The stranger, a wholesome, red-faced, black-haired +man, on being answered in the affirmative, introduced himself as Dr. +Douglas, of Kirkburn. ‘You telegraphed to my friend Logan +the news of <!-- page 261--><span class="pagenum">p. 261</span>the marquis’s +illness,’ said Merton. ‘I fear you have no better +news to give me.’</p> +<p>Dr. Douglas shook his head.</p> +<p>A curious little crowd was watching the pair from a short distance. +There was an air of solemnity about the people, which was not wholly +due to the chill grey late afternoon, and the melancholy sea.</p> +<p>‘We have an hour to wait, Mr. Merton, before the local train +starts, and afterwards there is a bit of a drive. It is cold, +we would be as well in the inn as here.’</p> +<p>The doctor beat his gloved hands together to restore the circulation.</p> +<p>Merton saw that the doctor wished to be with him in private, and +the two walked down into the town, where they got a comfortable room, +the doctor ordering boiling water and the other elements of what he +called ‘a cheerer.’ When the cups which cheer had +been brought, and the men were alone, the doctor said:</p> +<p>‘It is as you suppose, Mr. Merton, but worse.’</p> +<p>‘Great heaven, no accident has happened to Logan?’ asked +Merton.</p> +<p>‘No, sir, and he would have met you himself at Berwick, but +he is engaged in making inquiries and taking precautions at Kirkburn.’</p> +<p>‘You do not mean that there is any reason to suspect foul play? +The marquis, I know, was in bad health. You do not suspect—murder?’</p> +<p>‘No, sir, but—the marquis is gone.’</p> +<p>‘I <i>know</i> he is gone, your telegram and what I observed +of his health led me to fear the worst.’</p> +<p><!-- page 262--><span class="pagenum">p. 262</span>‘But his +body is gone—vanished.’</p> +<p>‘You suppose that it has been stolen (you know the American +and other cases of the same kind) for the purpose of extracting money +from the heir?’</p> +<p>‘That is the obvious view, whoever the heir may be. So +far, no will has been found,’ the doctor added some sugar to his +cheerer, and some whisky to correct the sugar. ‘The neighbourhood +is very much excited. Mr. Logan has telegraphed to London for +detectives.’</p> +<p>Merton reflected in silence.</p> +<p>‘The obvious view is not always the correct one,’ he +said. ‘The marquis was, at least I thought that he was, +a very eccentric person.’</p> +<p>‘No doubt about <i>that</i>,’ said the doctor.</p> +<p>‘Very well. He had reasons, such reasons as might occur +to a mind like his, for wanting to test the character and conduct of +Mr. Logan, his only living kinsman. What I am going to say will +seem absurd to you, but—the marquis spoke to me of his malady +as a kind of “dwawming,” I did not know what he meant, at +the time, but yesterday I consulted the glossary of a Scotch novel: +to <i>dwawm</i>, I think, is to lose consciousness?’</p> +<p>The doctor nodded.</p> +<p>‘Now you have read,’ said Merton, ‘the case published +by Dr. Cheyne, of a gentleman, Colonel Townsend, who could voluntarily +produce a state of “dwawm” which was not then to be distinguished +from death?’</p> +<p>‘I have read it in the notes to Aytoun’s <i>Scottish +Cavaliers</i>,’ said the doctor.</p> +<p><!-- page 263--><span class="pagenum">p. 263</span>‘Now, then, +suppose that the marquis, waking out of such a state, whether voluntarily +induced (which is very improbable) or not, thought fit to withdraw himself, +for the purpose of secretly watching, from some retreat, the behaviour +of his heir, if he has made Mr. Logan his heir? Is that hypothesis +absolutely out of keeping with his curious character?’</p> +<p>‘No. It’s crazy enough, if you will excuse me, +but, for these last few weeks, at any rate, I would have swithered about +signing a fresh certificate to the marquis’s sanity.’</p> +<p>‘You did, perhaps, sign one when he made his will, as he told +me?’</p> +<p>‘I, and Dr. Gourlay, and Professor Grant,’ the doctor +named two celebrated Edinburgh specialists. ‘But just of +late I would not be so certain.’</p> +<p>‘Then my theory need not necessarily be wrong?’</p> +<p>‘It can’t but be wrong. First, I saw the man dead.’</p> +<p>‘Absolute tests of death are hardly to be procured, of course +you know that better than I do,’ said Merton.</p> +<p>‘Yes, but I am positive, or as positive as one can be, in the +circumstances. However, that is not what I stand on. <i>There +was a witness who saw the marquis go</i>.’</p> +<p>‘Go—how did he go?’</p> +<p>‘He disappeared.’</p> +<p>‘The body disappeared?’</p> +<p>‘It did, but you had better hear the witness’s own account; +I don’t think a second-hand story will convince you, especially +as you have a theory.’</p> +<p>‘Was the witness a man or a woman?’</p> +<p><!-- page 264--><span class="pagenum">p. 264</span>‘A woman,’ +said the doctor.</p> +<p>‘Oh!’ said Merton.</p> +<p>‘I know what you mean,’ said the doctor. ‘You +think, it suits your theory, that the marquis came to himself and—’</p> +<p>‘And squared the female watcher,’ interrupted Merton; +‘she would assist him in his crazy stratagem.’</p> +<p>‘Mr. Merton, you’ve read ower many novels,’ said +the doctor, lapsing into the vernacular. ‘Well, your notion +is not unthinkable, nor pheesically impossible. She’s a +queer one, Jean Bower, that waked the corpse, sure enough. However, +you’ll soon be on the spot, and can examine the case for yourself. +Mr. Logan has no idea but that the body was stolen for purposes of blackmail.’ +He looked at his watch. ‘We must be going to catch the train, +if she’s anything like punctual.’</p> +<p>The pair walked in silence to the station, were again watched curiously +by the public (who appeared to treat the station as a club), and after +three-quarters of an hour of slow motion and stoppages, arrived at their +destination, Drem.</p> +<p>The doctor’s own man with a dog-cart was in waiting.</p> +<p>‘The marquis had neither machine nor horse,’ the doctor +explained.</p> +<p>Through the bleak late twilight they were driven, past two or three +squalid mining villages, along a road where the ruts showed black as +coal through the freezing snow. Out of one village, the lights +twinkling in the windows, they turned up a steep road, which, after +a couple of hundred yards, brought them <!-- page 265--><span class="pagenum">p. 265</span>to +the old stone gate posts, surmounted by heraldic animals.</p> +<p>‘The late marquis sold the worked-iron gates to a dealer,’ +said the doctor.</p> +<p>At the avenue gates, so steep was the ascent, both men got out and +walked.</p> +<p>‘You see the pits come up close to the house,’ said the +doctor, as they reached the crest. He pointed to some tall chimneys +on the eastern slope, which sank quite gradually to the neighbouring +German Ocean, but ended in an abrupt rocky cliff.</p> +<p>‘Is that a fishing village in the cleft of the cliffs? +I think I see a red roof,’ said Merton.</p> +<p>‘Ay, that’s Strutherwick, a fishing village,’ replied +the doctor.</p> +<p>‘A very easy place, on your theory, for an escape with the +body by boat,’ said Merton.</p> +<p>‘Ay, that is just it,’ acquiesced the doctor.</p> +<p>‘But,’ asked Merton, as they reached the level, and saw +the old keep black in front of them, ‘what is that rope stretched +about the lawn for? It seems to go all round the house, and there +are watchers.’ Dark figures with lanterns were visible at +intervals, as Merton peered into the gathering gloom. The watchers +paced to and fro like sentinels.</p> +<p>The door of the house opened, and a man’s figure stood out +against the lamp light within.</p> +<p>‘Is that you, Merton?’ came Logan’s voice from +the doorway.</p> +<p>Merton answered; and the doctor remarked, ‘Mr. Logan will tell +you what the rope’s for.’</p> +<p>The friends shook hands; the doctor, having deposited <!-- page 266--><span class="pagenum">p. 266</span>Merton’s +baggage, pleaded an engagement, and said ‘Good-bye,’ among +the thanks of Logan. An old man, a kind of silent Caleb Balderstone, +carried Merton’s light luggage up a black turnpike stair.</p> +<p>‘I’ve put you in the turret; it is the least dilapidated +room,’ said Logan. ‘Now, come in here.’</p> +<p>He led the way into a hall on the ground-floor. A great fire +in the ancient hearth, with its heavy heraldically carved stone chimney-piece, +lit up the desolation of the chamber.</p> +<p>‘Sit down and warm yourself,’ said Logan, pushing forward +a ponderous oaken chair, with a high back and short arms.</p> +<p>‘I know a good deal,’ said Merton, his curiosity hurrying +him to the point; ‘but first, Logan, what is the rope on the stakes +driven in round the house for?’</p> +<p>‘That was my first precaution,’ said Logan. ‘I +heard of the—of what has happened—about four in the morning, +and I instantly knocked in the stakes—hard work with the frozen +ground—and drew the rope along, to isolate the snow about the +house. When I had done that, I searched the snow for footmarks.’</p> +<p>‘When had the snow begun to fall?’</p> +<p>‘About midnight. I turned out then to look at the night +before going to bed.’</p> +<p>‘And there was nothing wrong then?’</p> +<p>‘He lay on his bed in the laird’s chamber. I had +just left it. I left him with the watcher of the dead. There +was a plate of salt on his breast. The housekeeper, Mrs. Bower, +keeps up the old ways. Candles <!-- page 267--><span class="pagenum">p. 267</span>were +burning all round the bed. A fearful waste he would have thought +it, poor old man. The devils! If I could get on their track!’ +said Logan, clenching his fist.</p> +<p>‘You have found no tracks, then?’</p> +<p>‘None. When I examined the snow there was not a footmark +on the roads to the back door or the front—not a footmark on the +whole area.’</p> +<p>‘Then the removal of the body from the bedroom was done from +within. Probably the body is still in the house.’</p> +<p>‘Certainly it has been taken out by no known exit, if it <i>has</i> +been taken out, as I believe. I at once arranged relays of sentinels—men +from the coal-pits. But the body is gone; I am certain of it. +A fishing-boat went out from the village, Strutherwick, before the dawn. +It came into the little harbour after midnight—some night-wandering +lover saw it enter—and it must have sailed again before dawn.’</p> +<p>‘Did you examine the snow near the harbour?’</p> +<p>‘I could not be everywhere at once, and I was single-handed; +but I sent down the old serving-man, John Bower. He is stupid +enough, but I gave him a note to any fisherman he might meet. +Of course these people are not detectives.’</p> +<p>‘And was there any result?’</p> +<p>‘Yes; an odd one. But it confirms the obvious theory +of body-snatching. Of course, fishers are early risers, and they +went trampling about confusedly. But they did find curious tracks. +We have isolated some of them, and even managed to carry off a couple. +We dug round them, and lifted them. A neighbouring <!-- page 268--><span class="pagenum">p. 268</span>laird, +Mr. Maitland, lent his ice-house for storing these, and I had one laid +down on the north side of this house to show you, if the frost held. +No ice-house or refrigerator <i>here</i>, of course.’</p> +<p>‘Let me see it now.’</p> +<p>Logan took a lighted candle—the night was frosty, without a +wind—and led Merton out under the black, ivy-clad walls. +Merton threw his greatcoat on the snow and knelt on it, peering at the +object. He saw a large flat clod of snow and earth. On its +surface was the faint impress of a long oval, longer than the human +foot; feathery marks running in both directions from the centre could +be descried. Looking closer, Merton detected here and there a +tiny feather and a flock or two of down adhering to the frozen mass.</p> +<p>‘May I remove some of these feathery things?’ Merton +asked.</p> +<p>‘Certainly. But why?’</p> +<p>‘We can’t carry the clod indoors, it would melt; and +it <i>may</i> melt if the weather changes; and by bad luck there may +be no feathers or down adhering to the other clods—those in the +laird’s ice-house.’</p> +<p>‘You think you have a clue?’</p> +<p>‘I think,’ said Merton, ‘that these are emu’s +feathers; but, whether they are or not, they look like a clue. +Still, I <i>think</i> they are emu’s feathers.’</p> +<p>‘Why? The emu is not an indigenous bird.’</p> +<p>As he spoke, an idea—several ideas—flashed on Merton. +He wished that he had held his peace. He put the little shreds +into his pocket-book, rose, and donned his greatcoat. ‘How +cold it is!’ he said. <!-- page 269--><span class="pagenum">p. 269</span>‘Logan, +would you mind very much if I said no more just now about the feathers? +I really have a notion—which may be a good one, or may be a silly +one—and, absurd as it appears, you will seriously oblige me by +letting me keep my own counsel.’</p> +<p>‘It is damned awkward,’ said Logan testily.</p> +<p>‘Ah, old boy, but remember that “damned awkward” +is a damned awkward expression.’</p> +<p>‘You are right,’ said Logan heartily; ‘but I rose +very early, I’m very tired, I’m rather savage. Let’s +go in and dine.’</p> +<p>‘All right,’ said Merton.</p> +<p>‘I don’t think,’ said Logan, as they were entering +the house, ‘that I need keep these miners on sentry go any longer. +The bird—the body, I mean—has flown. Whoever the fellows +were that made these tracks, and however they got into and out of the +house, they have carried the body away. I’ll pay the watchers +and dismiss them.’</p> +<p>‘All right,’ said Merton. ‘I won’t +dress. I must return to town by the night train. No time +to be lost.’</p> +<p>‘No train to be caught,’ said Logan, ‘unless you +drive or walk to Berwick from here—which you can’t. +You can’t walk to Dunbar, to catch the 10.20, and I have nothing +that you can drive.’</p> +<p>‘Can I send a telegram to town?’</p> +<p>‘It is four miles to the nearest telegraph station, but I dare +say one of the sentinels would walk there for a consideration.’</p> +<p>‘No use,’ said Merton. ‘I should need to +wire in a cipher, when I come to think of it, and cipher I <!-- page 270--><span class="pagenum">p. 270</span>have +none. I must go as early as I can to-morrow. Let us consult +Bradshaw.’</p> +<p>They entered the house. Merton had a Bradshaw in his dressing-bag. +They found that he could catch a train at 10.49 A.M., and be in London +about 9 P.M.</p> +<p>‘How are you to get to the station?’ asked Logan. +‘I’ll tell you how,’ he went on. ‘I’ll +send a note to the inn at the place, and order a trap to be here at +ten. That will give you lots of time. It is about four miles.’</p> +<p>‘Thank you,’ said Merton; ‘I see no better way.’ +And while Logan went to pay and dismiss the sentries and send a messenger, +a grandson of the old butler with the note to the innkeeper, Merton +toiled up the narrow turnpike stair to the turret chamber. A fire +had been burning all day, and in firelight almost any room looks tolerable. +There was a small four-poster bed, with slender columns, a black old +wardrobe, and a couple of chairs, one of the queer antiquated little +dressing-tables, with many drawers, and boxes, and a tiny basin, and +there was a perfectly new tub, which Logan had probably managed to obtain +in the course of the day. Merton’s evening clothes were +neatly laid out, the shutters were closed, curtains there were none; +in fact, he had been in much worse quarters.</p> +<p>As he dressed he mused. ‘Cursed spite,’ thought +he, ‘that ever I was born to be an amateur detective! And +cursed be my confounded thirst for general information! Why did +I ever know what <i>Kurdaitcha</i> and <i>Interlinia</i> mean? +If I turn out to be right, oh, shade of Sherlock Holmes, what a pretty +kettle of fish there will be! Suppose I drop the whole affair! +<!-- page 271--><span class="pagenum">p. 271</span>But I’ve been +ass enough to let Logan know that I have an idea. Well, we shall +see how matters shape themselves. Sufficient for the day is the +evil thereof.’</p> +<p>Merton descended the turnpike stair, holding on to the rope provided +for that purpose in old Scotch houses. He found Logan standing +by the fire in the hall. They were waited on by the old man, Bower. +By tacit consent they spoke, while he was present, of anything but the +subject that occupied their minds. They had quite an edible dinner—cock-a-leekie, +brandered haddocks, and a pair of roasted fowls, with a mysterious sweet +which was called a ‘Hattit Kit.’</p> +<p>‘It is an historical dish in this house,’ said Logan. +‘A favourite with our ancestor, the conspirator.’</p> +<p>The wine was old and good, having been laid down before the time +of the late marquis.</p> +<p>‘In the circumstances, Logan,’ said Merton, when the +old serving man was gone, ‘you have done me very well.’</p> +<p>‘Thanks to Mrs. Bower, our butler’s wife,’ said +Logan. ‘She is a truly remarkable woman. She and her +husband, they are cousins, are members of an ancient family, our hereditary +retainers. One of them, Laird Bower, was our old conspirator’s +go-between in the plot to kidnap the king, of which you have heard so +much. Though he was an aged and ignorant man, he kept the secret +so well that our ancestor was never even suspected, till his letters +came to light after his death, and after Laird Bower’s death too, +luckily for both of them. So you see we can depend on it that +this pair of domestics, and their <!-- page 272--><span class="pagenum">p. 272</span>family, +were not concerned in this new abomination; so far, the robbery was +not from within.’</p> +<p>‘I am glad to hear that,’ said Merton. ‘I +had invented a theory, too stupid to repeat, and entirely demolished +by the footmarks in the snow, a theory which hypothetically implicated +your old housekeeper. To be sure it did not throw any doubt on +her loyalty to the house, quite the reverse.’</p> +<p>‘What was your theory?’</p> +<p>‘Oh, too silly for words; that the marquis had been only in +a trance, had come to himself when alone with the old lady, who, the +doctor said, was watching in the room, and had stolen away, to see how +you would conduct yourself. Childish hypothesis! The obvious +one, body-snatching, is correct. This is very good port.’</p> +<p>‘If things had been as you thought possible, Jean Bower was +not the woman to balk the marquis,’ said Logan. ‘But +you must see her and hear her tell her own story.’</p> +<p>‘Gladly,’ said Merton, ‘but first tell me yours.’</p> +<p>‘When I arrived I found the poor old gentleman unconscious. +Dr. Douglas was in attendance. About noon he pronounced life extinct. +Mrs. Bower watched, or “waked” the corpse. I left +her with it about midnight, as I told you; about four in the morning +she aroused me with the news that the body had vanished. What +I did after that you know. Now you had better hear the story from +herself.’</p> +<p>Logan rang a handbell, there were no other bells in the keep, and +asked the old serving-man, when he came, to send in Mrs. Bower.</p> +<p><!-- page 273--><span class="pagenum">p. 273</span>She entered, a +very aged woman, dressed in deep mourning. She was tall, her hair +of an absolutely pure white, her aquiline face was drawn, her cheeks +hollow, her mouth almost toothless. She made a deep courtesy, +repeating it when Logan introduced ‘my friend, Mr. Merton.’</p> +<p>‘Mrs. Bower,’ Logan said, ‘Mr. Merton is my oldest +friend, and the marquis saw him in London, and consulted him on private +business a few days ago. He wishes to hear you tell what you saw +the night before last.’</p> +<p>‘Maybe, as the gentleman is English, he’ll hardly understand +me, my lord. I have a landward tongue,’ said Mrs. Bower.</p> +<p>‘I can interpret if Mr. Merton is puzzled, Mrs. Bower, but +I think he will understand better if we go to the laird’s chamber.’</p> +<p>Logan took two lighted candles, handing two to Merton, and the old +woman led them upstairs to a room which occupied the whole front of +the ancient ‘peel,’ or square tower, round which the rest +of the house was built. The room was nearly bare of furniture, +except for an old chair or two, a bureau, and a great old bed of state, +facing the narrow deep window, and standing on a kind of daïs, +or platform of three steps. The heavy old green curtains were +drawn all round it. Mrs. Bower opened them at the front and sides. +At the back against the wall the curtains, embroidered with the arms +of Restalrig, remained closed.</p> +<p>‘I sat here all the night,’ said Mrs. Bower, ‘watching +the corp that my hands had streikit. The candles <!-- page 274--><span class="pagenum">p. 274</span>were +burning a’ about him, the saut lay on his breast, only aefold +o’ linen covered him. My back was to the window, my face +to his feet. I was crooning the auld dirgie; if it does nae guid, +it does nae harm.’ She recited in a monotone:</p> +<blockquote><p>‘When thou frae here away art past—<br /> + Every nicht and all—<br /> +To Whinny-muir thou comest at last,<br /> + And Christ receive thy saul.</p> +<p>‘If ever thou gavest hosen and shoon—<br /> + Every nicht and all—<br /> +Sit thee down and put them on,<br /> + And Christ receive thy saul</p> +</blockquote> +<p>‘Alas, he never gave nane, puir man,’ said the woman +with a sob.</p> +<p>At this moment the door of the chamber slowly opened. The woman +turned and gazed at it, frowning, her lips wide apart.</p> +<p>Logan went to the door, looked into the passage, closed the door +and locked it; the key had to be turned twice, in the old fashion, and +worked with a creaking jar.</p> +<p>‘I had crooned thae last words,</p> +<blockquote><p>And Christ receive thy saul,</p> +</blockquote> +<p>when the door opened, as ye saw it did the now. It is weel +kenned that a corp canna lie still in a room with the door hafflins +open. I rose to lock it, the catch is crazy. I was backing +to the door, with my face to the feet o’ the corp. I saw +them move backwards, slow they moved, and my heart stood still in my +breist. Then I saw’—here she stepped to the <!-- page 275--><span class="pagenum">p. 275</span>head +of the bed and drew apart the curtains, which opened in the middle—‘I +saw the curtain was open, and naething but blackness ahint it. +Ye see, my Lord, ahint the bed-heid is the entrance o’ the auld +secret passage. The stanes hae lang syne fallen in, and closed +it, but my Lord never would have the hole wa’ed up. “There’s +nae draught, Jean, or nane to mention, and I never was wastefu’ +in needless repairs,” he aye said. Weel, when I looked that +way, his face, down to the chafts, was within the blackness, and aye +draw, drawing further ben. Then, I shame to say it, a sair dwawm +cam ower me, I gae a bit chokit cry, and I kenned nae mair till I cam +to mysel, a’ the candles were out, and the chamber was mirk and +lown. I heard the skirl o’ a passing train, and I crap to +the bed, and the skirl kind o’ reminded me o’ living folk, +and I felt a’ ower the bed wi’ my hands. There was +nae corp. Ye ken that the Enemy has power, when a corp lies in +a room, and the door is hafflins closed. Whiles they sit up, and +grin and yammer. I hae kenned that. Weel, how long I had +lain in the dwawm I canna say. The train that skirled maun hae +been a coal train that rins by about half-past three in the morning. +There was a styme o’ licht that streeled in at the open door, +frae a candle your lordship set on a table in the lobby; the auld lord +would hae nae lichts in the house after the ten hours. Sae I got +to the door, and grippit to the candle, and flew off to your lordship’s +room, and the rest ye ken.’</p> +<p>‘Thank you, very much, Mrs. Bower,’ said Logan. +‘You quite understand, Merton, don’t you?’</p> +<p><!-- page 276--><span class="pagenum">p. 276</span>‘I thoroughly +understand your story, Mrs. Bower,’ said Merton.</p> +<p>‘We need not keep you any longer, Mrs. Bower,’ said Logan. +‘Nobody need sit up for us; you must be terribly fatigued.’</p> +<p>‘You wunna forget to rake out the ha’ fire, my lord?’ +said the old lady, ‘I wush your Lordship a sound sleep, and you, +sir,’ so she curtsied and went, Logan unlocking the door.</p> +<p>‘And I was in London this morning!’ said Merton, drawing +a long breath.</p> +<p>‘You’re over Tweed, now, old man,’ answered Logan, +with patriotic satisfaction.</p> +<p>‘Don’t go yet,’ said Merton. ‘You examined +the carpet of the room; no traces there of these odd muffled foot-coverings +you found in the snow?’</p> +<p>‘Not a trace of any kind. The salt was spilt, some of +it lay on the floor. The plate was not broken.’</p> +<p>‘If they came in, it would be barefoot,’ said Merton.</p> +<p>‘Of course the police left traces of official boots,’ +said Logan. ‘Where are they now—the policemen, I mean?’</p> +<p>‘Two are to sleep in the kitchen.’</p> +<p>‘They found out nothing?’</p> +<p>‘Of course not.’</p> +<p>‘Let me look at the hole in the wall.’ Merton climbed +on to the bed and entered the hole. It was about six feet long +by four wide. Stones had fallen in, at the back, and had closed +the passage in a rough way, indeed what extent of the floor of the passage +existed was huddled with stones. Merton examined the sides of +the passage, which were mere rubble.</p> +<p><!-- page 277--><span class="pagenum">p. 277</span>‘Have you +looked at the floor beneath those fallen stones?’ Merton asked.</p> +<p>‘No, by Jove, I never thought of that,’ said Logan.</p> +<p>‘How could they have been stirred without the old woman hearing +the noise?’</p> +<p>‘How do you know they were there before the marquis’s +death?’ asked Merton, adding, ‘this hole was not swept and +dusted regularly. Either the entrance is beneath me, or—“the +Enemy had power”—as Mrs. Bower says.’</p> +<p>‘You must be right,’ said Logan. ‘I’ll +have the stones removed to-morrow. The thing is clear. The +passage leads to somewhere outside of the house. There’s +an abandoned coal mine hard by, on the east. Nothing can be simpler.’</p> +<p>‘When once you see it,’ said Merton.</p> +<p>‘Come and have a whisky and soda,’ said Logan.</p> +<h3>III. A Romance of Bradshaw</h3> +<p>Merton slept very well in the turret room. He was aroused early +by noises which he interpreted as caused by the arrival of the London +detectives. But he only turned round, like the sluggard, and slumbered +till Logan aroused him at eight o’clock. He descended about +a quarter to nine, breakfast was at nine, and he found Logan looking +much disturbed.</p> +<p>‘They don’t waste time,’ said Logan, handing to +Merton a letter in an opened envelope. Logan’s hand trembled.</p> +<p>‘Typewritten address, London postmark,’ said <!-- page 278--><span class="pagenum">p. 278</span>Merton. +‘To Robert Logan, Esq., at Kirkburn Keep, Drem, Scotland.’</p> +<p>Merton read the letter aloud; there was no date of place, but there +were the words:</p> +<blockquote><p>‘March 6, 2.45 <span class="smcap">p.m</span>.<br /> +‘<span class="smcap">Sir</span>,—Perhaps I ought to say +my Lord—’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>‘What a fool the fellow is,’ said Merton.</p> +<p>‘Why?’</p> +<p>‘Shows he is an educated man.’</p> +<blockquote><p>‘You may obtain news as to the mortal remains of +your kinsman, the late Marquis of Restalrig, and as to his Will, by +walking in the Burlington Arcade on March 11, between the hours of three +and half-past three p.m. You must be attired in full mourning +costume, carrying a glove in your left hand, and a black cane, with +a silver top, in your right. A lady will drop her purse beside +you. You will accost her.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Here the letter, which was typewritten, ended.</p> +<p>‘You won’t?’ said Merton. ‘Never meet +a black-mailer halfway.’</p> +<p>‘I wouldn’t,’ said Logan. ‘But look +here!’</p> +<p>He gave Merton another letter, in outward respect exactly similar +to the first, except that the figure 2 was typewritten in the left corner. +The letter ran thus:</p> +<blockquote><p>‘March 6, 4.25 p.m.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Sir</span>,—I regret to have to +trouble you with a second communication, but my former letter was posted +before a <!-- page 279--><span class="pagenum">p. 279</span>change occurred +in the circumstances. You will be pleased to hear that I have +no longer the affliction of speaking of your noble kinsman as “<i>the +late</i> Marquis of Restalrig.”’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>‘Oh my prophetic soul!’ said Merton, ‘I guessed +at first that he was not dead after all! Only catalepsy.’ +He went on reading: ‘His Lordship recovered consciousness in circumstances +which I shall not pain you by describing. He is now doing as well +as can be expected, and may have several years of useful life before +him. I need not point out to you that the conditions of the negotiation +are now greatly altered. On the one hand, my partners and myself +may seem to occupy the position of players who work a double ruff at +whist. We are open to the marquis’s offers for release, +and to yours for his eternal absence from the scene of life and enjoyment. +But it is by no means impossible that you may have scruples about outbidding +your kinsman, especially as, if you did, you would, by the very fact, +become subject to perpetual “black-mailing” at our hands. +I speak plainly, as one man of the world to another. It is also +a drawback to our position that you could attain your ends without blame +or scandal (your ends being, of course, if the law so determines, immediate +succession to the property of the marquis), by merely pushing us, with +the aid of the police, to a fatal extreme. We are, therefore reluctantly +obliged to conclude that we cannot put the marquis’s life up to +auction between you and him, as my partners, in the first flush of triumph, +had conceived. But any movement on your side against us will be +met in such a way that the consequences, both to yourself and your kinsman, +<!-- page 280--><span class="pagenum">p. 280</span>will prove to the +last degree prejudicial. For the rest, the arrangements specified +in my earlier note of this instant (dated 2.45 P. M.) remain in force.’</p> +<p>Merton returned the letter to Logan. Their faces were almost +equally blank.</p> +<p>‘Let me think!’ said Merton. He turned, and walked +to the window. Logan re-read the letters and waited. Presently +Merton came back to the fireside. ‘You see, after all, this +resolves itself into the ordinary dilemma of brigandage. We do +not want to pay ransom, enormous ransom probably, if we can rescue the +marquis, and destroy the gang. But the marquis himself—’</p> +<p>‘Oh, <i>he</i> would never offer terms that they would accept,’ +said Logan, with conviction. ‘But I would stick at no ransom, +of course.’</p> +<p>‘But suppose that I see a way of defeating the scoundrels, +would you let me risk it?’</p> +<p>‘If you neither imperil yourself nor him too much.’</p> +<p>‘Never mind me, I like it. And, as for him, they will +be very loth to destroy their winning card.’</p> +<p>‘You’ll be cautious?’</p> +<p>‘Naturally, but, as this place and the stations are sure to +be watched, as the trains are slow, local, and inconvenient, and as, +thanks to the economy of the marquis, you have no horses, it will be +horribly difficult for me to leave the house and get to London and to +work without their spotting me. It is absolutely essential to +my scheme that I should not be known to be in town, and that I should +be supposed to be here. I’ll think it out. In the +meantime we must <!-- page 281--><span class="pagenum">p. 281</span>do +what we can to throw dust in the eyes of the enemy. Wire an identical +advertisement to all the London papers; I’ll write it.’</p> +<p>Merton went to a table on which lay some writing materials, and wrote:—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘BURLINGTON ARCADE. SILVER-TOPPED EBONY STICK. +Any offer made by the other party will be doubled on receipt of that +consignment uninjured. Will meet the lady. Traps shall be +kept here till after the date you mention. CHURCH BROOK.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>‘Now,’ said Merton, ‘he will see that Church Brook +is Kirkburn, and that you will be liberal. And he will understand +that the detectives are not to return to London. You did not show +them the letters?’</p> +<p>‘Of course not till you saw them, and I won’t.’</p> +<p>‘And, if nothing can be done before the eleventh, why you must +promenade in the Burlington Arcade.’</p> +<p>‘You see one weak point in your offers, don’t you?’</p> +<p>‘Which?’</p> +<p>‘Why, suppose they do release the marquis, how am I to get +the money to pay double his offer? He won’t stump up and +recoup me.’</p> +<p>Merton laughed. ‘We must risk it,’ he said. +‘And, in the changed circumstances, the tin might be raised on +a post-obit. But <i>he</i> won’t bid high; you may double +safely enough.’</p> +<p>On considering these ideas Logan looked relieved. ‘Now,’ +he asked, ‘about your plan; is it following the emu’s feather?’</p> +<p>Merton nodded. ‘But I must do it alone. The <!-- page 282--><span class="pagenum">p. 282</span>detectives +must stay here. Now if I leave, dressed as I am, by the 10.49, +I’ll be tracked all the way. Is there anybody in the country +whom you can absolutely trust?’</p> +<p>‘Yes, there’s Bower, the gardener, the son of these two +feudal survivals, and there is <i>his</i> son.’</p> +<p>‘What is young Bower?’</p> +<p>‘A miner in the collieries; the mine is near the house.’</p> +<p>‘Is he about my size? Have you seen him?’</p> +<p>‘I saw him last night; he was one of the watchers.’</p> +<p>‘Is he near my size?’</p> +<p>‘A trifle broader, otherwise near enough.’</p> +<p>‘What luck!’ said Merton, adding, ‘well, I can’t +start by the 10.49. I’m ill. I’m in bed. +Order my breakfast in bed, send Mrs. Bower, and come up with her yourself.’</p> +<p>Merton rushed up the turnpike stair; in two minutes he was undressed, +and between the sheets. There he lay, reading Bradshaw, pages +670, 671.</p> +<p>Presently there was a knock at the door, and Logan entered, followed +by Mrs. Bower with the breakfast tray.</p> +<p>Merton addressed her at once.</p> +<p>‘Mrs. Bower, we know that we can trust you absolutely.’</p> +<p>‘To the death, sir—me and mine.’</p> +<p>‘Well, I am not ill, but people must think I am ill. +Is your grandson on the night shift or the day shift?’</p> +<p>‘Laird is on the day shift, sir.’</p> +<p>‘When does he leave his work?’</p> +<p>‘About six, sir.’</p> +<p><!-- page 283--><span class="pagenum">p. 283</span>‘That is +good. As soon as he appears—’</p> +<p>‘I’ll wait for him at the pit’s mouth, sir.’</p> +<p>‘Thank you. You will take him to his house; he lives +with your son?’</p> +<p>‘Yes, sir, with his father.’</p> +<p>‘Make him change his working clothes—but he need not +wash his face much—and bring him here. Mr. Logan, I mean +Lord Fastcastle, will want him. Now, Mrs. Bower—you see +I trust you absolutely—what he is wanted for is <i>this</i>. +I shall dress in your grandson’s clothes, I shall blacken my hands +and face slightly, and I must get to Drem. Have I time to reach +the station by ten minutes past seven?’</p> +<p>‘By fast walking, sir.’</p> +<p>‘Mr. Logan and your grandson—your grandson in my clothes—will +walk later to your son’s house, as they find a chance, unobserved, +say about eleven at night. They will stay there for some time. +Then they will be joined by some of the police, who will accompany Mr. +Logan home again. Your grandson will go to his work as usual in +the morning. That is all. You quite understand? You +have nothing to do but to bring your grandson here, dressed as I said, +as soon as he leaves his work. Oh, wait a moment! Is your +grandson a teetotaller?’</p> +<p>‘He’s like the other lads, sir.’</p> +<p>‘All the better. Does he smoke?’</p> +<p>‘Yes, sir.’</p> +<p>‘Then pray bring me a pipe of his and some of his tobacco. +And, ah yes, does he possess such a thing as an old greatcoat?’</p> +<p>‘His auld ane’s sair worn, sir.’</p> +<p><!-- page 284--><span class="pagenum">p. 284</span>‘Never mind, +he had better walk up in it. He has a better one?’</p> +<p>‘Yes, sir.’</p> +<p>‘I think that is all,’ said Merton. ‘You +understand, Mrs. Bower, that I am going away dressed as your grandson, +while your grandson, dressed as myself, returns to his house to-night, +and to work to-morrow. But it is not to be known that I <i>have</i> +gone away. I am to be supposed ill in bed here for a day or two. +You will bring my meals into the room at the usual hours, and Logan—of +course you can trust Dr. Douglas?’</p> +<p>‘I do.’</p> +<p>‘Then he had better be summoned to my sick bed here to-morrow. +I may be so ill that he will have to call twice. That will keep +up the belief that I am here.’</p> +<p>‘Good idea,’ said Logan, as the old woman left the room. +‘What had I better do now?’</p> +<p>‘Oh, send your telegrams—the advertisements—to +the London papers. They can go by the trap you ordered for me, +that I am too ill to go in. Then you will have to interview the +detectives, take them into the laird’s chamber, and, if they start +my theory about the secret entrance being under the fallen stones, let +them work away at removing them. If they don’t start it, +put them up to it; anything to keep them employed and prevent them from +asking questions in the villages.’</p> +<p>‘But, Merton, I understand your leaving in disguise; still, +why go first to Edinburgh?’</p> +<p>‘The trains from your station to town do not fit. <!-- page 285--><span class="pagenum">p. 285</span>You +can look.’ And Merton threw Bradshaw to Logan, who caught +it neatly.</p> +<p>When he had satisfied himself, Logan said, ‘The shops will +be closed in Edinburgh, it will be after eight when you arrive. +How will you manage about getting into decent clothes?’</p> +<p>‘I have my idea; but, as soon as you can get rid of the detectives, +come back here; I want you to coach me in broad Scots words and pronunciation. +I shall concoct imaginary dialogues. I say, this is great fun.’</p> +<p>‘Dod, man, aw ’m the lad that’ll lairn ye the pronoonciation,’ +said Logan, and he was going.</p> +<p>‘Wait,’ said Merton, ‘sign me a paper giving me +leave to treat about the ransom. And promise that, if I don’t +reappear by the eleventh, you won’t negotiate at all.’</p> +<p>‘Not likely I will,’ said Logan.</p> +<p>Merton lay in bed inventing imaginary dialogues to be rendered into +Scots as occasion served. Presently Logan brought him a little +book named <i>Mansie Waugh</i>.</p> +<p>‘That is our lingo here,’ he said; and Merton studied +the work carefully, marking some phrases with a pencil.</p> +<p>In about an hour Logan reported that the detectives were at work +in the secret passage. The lesson in the Scots of the Lothians +began, accompanied by sounds of muffled laughter. Not for two +or three centuries can the turret chamber at Kirkburn have heard so +much merriment.</p> +<p>The afternoon passed in this course of instruction. <!-- page 286--><span class="pagenum">p. 286</span>Merton +was a fairly good mimic, and Logan felt at last that he could not readily +be detected for an Englishman. Six o’clock had scarcely +struck when Mrs. Bower’s grandson was ushered into the bedroom. +The exchange of clothes took place, Merton dressing as the young Bower +undressed. The detectives, who had found nothing, were being entertained +by Mrs. Bower at dinner.</p> +<p>‘I know how the trap in the secret passage is worked,’ +said Merton, ‘but you keep them hunting for it.’</p> +<p>Had the worthy detectives been within earshot the yells of laughter +echoing in the turret as the men dressed must have suggested strange +theories to their imaginations.</p> +<p>‘Larks!’ said Merton, as he blackened his face with coal +dust.</p> +<p>Dismissing young Bower, who was told to wait in the hall, Merton +made his final arrangements. ‘You will communicate with +me under cover to Trevor,’ he said. He took a curious mediæval +ring that he always wore from his ringer, and tied it to a piece of +string, which he hung round his neck, tucking all under his shirt. +Then he arranged his thick comforter so as to hide the back of his head +and neck (he had bitten his nails and blackened them with coal).</p> +<p>‘Logan, I only want a bottle of whisky, the cork drawn and +loose in the bottle, and a few dirty Scotch one pound notes; and, oh! +has Mrs. Bower a pack of cards?’</p> +<p>Having been supplied with these properties, and <!-- page 287--><span class="pagenum">p. 287</span>said +farewell to Logan, Merton stole downstairs, walked round the house, +entered the kitchen by the back door, and said to Mrs. Bower, ‘Grannie, +I maun be ganging.’</p> +<p>‘My grandson, gentlemen,’ said Mrs. Bower to the detectives. +Then to her grandson, she remarked, ‘Hae, there’s a jeely +piece for you’; and Merton, munching a round of bread covered +with jam, walked down the steep avenue. He knew the house he was +to enter, the gardener’s lodge, and also that he was to approach +it by the back way, and go in at the back door. The inmates expected +him and understood the scheme; presently he went out by the door into +the village street, still munching at his round of bread.</p> +<p>To such lads and lassies as hailed him in the waning light he replied +gruffly, explaining that he had ‘a sair hoast,’ that is, +a bad cough, from which he had observed that young Bower was suffering. +He was soon outside of the village, and walking at top speed towards +the station. Several times he paused, in shadowy corners of the +hedges, and listened. There was no sound of pursuing feet. +He was not being followed, but, of course, he might be dogged at the +station. The enemy would have their spies there: if they had them +in the village his disguise had deceived them. He ran, whenever +no passer-by was in sight; through the villages he walked, whistling +‘Wull ye no come back again!’ He reached the station +with three minutes to spare, took a third-class ticket, and went on +to the platform. Several people were waiting, among them four +or five rough-looking miners, probably spies. He strolled towards +the end <!-- page 288--><span class="pagenum">p. 288</span>of the platform, +and when the train entered, leaped into a third-class carriage which +was nearly full. Turning at the door, he saw the rough customers +making for the same carriage. ‘Come on,’ cried Merton, +with a slight touch of intoxication in his voice; ‘come on billies, +a’ freens here!’ and he cast a glance of affection behind +him at the other occupants of the carriage. The roughs pressed +in.</p> +<p>‘I won’t have it,’ cried a testy old gentleman, +who was economically travelling by third-class, ‘there are only +three seats vacant. The rest of the train is nearly empty. +Hi, guard! station-master, hi!’</p> +<p>‘A’ <i>freens</i> here,’ repeated Merton stolidly, +taking his whisky bottle from his greatcoat pocket. Two of the +roughs had entered, but the guard persuaded the other two that they +must bestow themselves elsewhere. The old gentleman glared at +Merton, who was standing up, the cork of the bottle between his teeth, +as the train began to move. He staggered and fell back into his +seat.</p> +<blockquote><p>‘We are na fou, we’re no <i>that</i> fou,’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Merton chanted, directing his speech to the old gentleman,</p> +<blockquote><p>‘But just a wee drap in oor ’ee!’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>‘The curse of Scotland,’ muttered the old gentleman, +whether with reference to alcohol or to Robert Burns, is uncertain.</p> +<p>‘The Curse o’ Scotland,’ said Merton, ‘that’s +the nine o’ diamonds. I hae the cairts on me, maybe ye’d +take a hand, sir, at Beggar ma Neebour, or <!-- page 289--><span class="pagenum">p. 289</span>Catch +the Ten? Ye needna be feared, a can pay gin I lose.’ +He dragged out his cards, and a handful of silver.</p> +<p>The rough customers between whom Merton was sitting began to laugh +hoarsely. The old gentleman frowned.</p> +<p>‘I shall change my carriage at the next station,’ he +said, ‘and I shall report you for gambling.’</p> +<p>‘A’ freens!’ said Merton, as if horrified by the +austere reception of his cordial advances. ‘Wha’s +gaumlin’? We mauna play, billies, till he’s gane. +An unco pernicketty auld carl, thon ane,’ he remarked, <i>sotto +voce</i>. ‘But there’s naething in the Company’s +by-laws again refraishments,’ Merton added. He uncorked +his bottle, made a pretence of sucking at it, and passed it to his neighbours, +the rough customers. They imbibed with freedom.</p> +<p>The carriage was very dark, the lamp ‘moved like a moon in +a wane,’ as Merton might have quoted in happier circumstances. +The rough customers glared at him, but his cap had a peak, and he wore +his comforter high.</p> +<p>‘Man, ye’re the kind o’ lad I like,’ said +one of the rough customers.</p> +<p>‘A’ freens!’ said Merton, again applying himself +to the bottle, and passing it. ‘Ony ither gentleman tak’ +a sook?’ asked Merton, including all the passengers in his hospitable +glance. ‘Nane o’ ye dry?</p> +<blockquote><p> ‘Oh! fill yer +ain glass,<br /> + And let the jug pass,<br /> +Hoo d’ye ken but yer neighbour’s dry?’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Merton carolled.</p> +<p><!-- page 290--><span class="pagenum">p. 290</span>‘Thon’s +no a Scotch lilt,’ remarked one of the roughs.</p> +<p>‘A ken it’s Irish,’ said Merton. ‘But, +billie, the whusky’s Scotch!’</p> +<p>The train slowed and the old gentleman got out. From the platform +he stormed at Merton.</p> +<p>‘Ye’re no an awakened character, ma freend,’ answered +Merton. ‘Gude nicht to ye! Gie ma love to the gude +wife and the weans!’</p> +<p>The train pursued her course.</p> +<p>‘Aw ’m saying, billie, aw ’m saying,’ remarked +one of the roughs, thrusting his dirty beard into Merton’s face.</p> +<p>‘Weel, <i>be</i> saying,’ said Merton.</p> +<p>‘You’re no Lairdie Bower, ye ken, ye haena the neb o’ +him.’</p> +<p>‘And wha the deil said a <i>was</i> Lairdie Bower? Aw +’m a Lanerick man. Lairdie’s at hame wi’ a sair +hoast,’ answered Merton.</p> +<p>‘But ye’re wearing Lairdie Bower’s auld big coat.’</p> +<p>‘And what for no? Lairdie has anither coat, a brawer +yin, and he lent me the auld yin because the nichts is cauld, and I +hae a hoast ma’sel! Div <i>ye</i> ken Lairdie Bower? +I’ve been wi’ his auld faither and the lasses half the day, +but speakin’s awfu’ dry work.’</p> +<p>Here Merton repeated the bottle trick, and showed symptoms of going +to sleep, his head rolling on to the shoulder of the rough.</p> +<p>‘Haud up, man!’ said the rough, withdrawing the support.</p> +<p>‘A’ freens here,’ remarked Merton, drawing a dirty +clay pipe from his pocket. ‘Hae ye a spunk?’</p> +<p><!-- page 291--><span class="pagenum">p. 291</span>The rough provided +him with a match, and he killed some time, while Preston Pans was passed, +in filling and lighting his pipe.</p> +<p>‘Ye’re a Lanerick man?’ asked the inquiring rough.</p> +<p>‘Ay, a Hamilton frae Moss End. But I’m taking the +play. Ma auld tittie has dee’d and left me some siller,’ +Merton dragged a handful of dirty notes out of his trousers pocket. +‘I’ve been to see the auld Bowers, but Lairdie was on the +shift.’</p> +<p>‘And ye’re ganging to Embro?’</p> +<blockquote><p>‘When we cam’ into Embro Toon<br /> + We were a seemly sicht to see;<br /> +Ma luve was in the—</p> +</blockquote> +<p>I dinna mind what ma luve was in—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘And I ma’sel in cramoisie,’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>sang Merton, who had the greatest fear of being asked local questions +about Moss End and Motherwell. ‘I dinna ken what cramoisie +is, ma’sel’,’ he added. ‘Hae a drink!’</p> +<p>‘Man, ye’re a bonny singer,’ said the rough, who, +hitherto, had taken no hand in the conversation.</p> +<p>‘Ma faither was a precentor,’ said Merton, and so, in +fact, Mr. Merton <i>père</i> had, for a short time, been—of +Salisbury Cathedral.</p> +<p>They were approaching Portobello, where Merton rushed to the window, +thrust half of his body out and indulged in the raucous and meaningless +yells of the festive artisan. Thus he tided over a rather prolonged +wait, but, when the train moved on, the inquiring <!-- page 292--><span class="pagenum">p. 292</span>rough +returned to the charge. He was suspicious, and also was drunk, +and obstinate with all the brainless obstinacy of intoxication.</p> +<p>‘Aw ’m sayin’,’ he remarked to Merton, ‘you’re +no Lairdie Bower.’</p> +<p>‘Hear till the man! Aw ’m Tammy Hamilton, o’ +Moss End in Lanerick. Aw ’m ganging to see ma Jean.</p> +<blockquote><p> ‘For day or +night<br /> + Ma fancy’s flight<br /> + Is ever wi’ ma Jean—<br /> +Ma bonny, bonny, flat-footed Jean,’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>sang Merton, gliding from the strains of Robert Burns into those +of Mr. Boothby. ‘Jean’s a Lanerick wumman,’ +he added, ‘she’s in service in the Pleasance. Aw ’m +ganging to my Jo. Ye’ll a’ hae Jos, billies?’</p> +<p>‘Aw ’m sayin’,’ the intoxicated rough persisted, +‘ye’re no a Lanerick man. Ye’re the English +gentleman birkie that cam’ to Kirkburn yestreen. Or else +ye’re ane o’ the polis’ (police).</p> +<p>‘<i>Me</i> ane o’ the polis! Aw ’m askin’ +the company, <i>div</i> a look like a polisman? <i>Div</i> a look +like an English birkie, or ane o’ the gentry?’</p> +<p>The other passengers, decent people, thus appealed to, murmured negatives, +and shook their heads. Merton certainly did not resemble a policeman, +an Englishman, or a gentleman.</p> +<p>‘Ye see naebody lippens to ye,’ Merton went on. +‘Man, if we were na a’ freens, a wad gie ye a jaud atween +yer twa een! But ye’ve been drinking. Tak anither +sook!’</p> +<p>The rough did not reject the conciliatory offer.</p> +<p><!-- page 293--><span class="pagenum">p. 293</span>‘The whiskey’s +low,’ said Merton, holding up the bottle to the light, ‘but +there’s mair at Embro’ station.’</p> +<p>They were now drawing up at the station. Merton floundered +out, threw his arms round the necks of each of the roughs, yelled to +their companions in the next carriage to follow, and staggered into +the third-class refreshment room. Here he leaned against the counter +and feebly ogled the attendant nymph.</p> +<p>‘Ma lonny bassie, a mean ma bonny lassie,’ he said, ‘gie’s +five gills, five o’ the Auld Kirk’ (whisky).</p> +<p>‘Hoots man!’ he heard one of the roughs remark to another. +‘This falla’s no the English birkie. English he canna +be.’</p> +<p>‘But aiblins he’s ane o’ oor ain polis,’ +said the man of suspicions.</p> +<p>‘Nane o’ oor polis has the gumption; and him as fou as +a fiddler.’</p> +<p>Merton, waving his glass, swallowed its contents at three gulps. +He then fell on the floor, scrambled to his feet, tumbled out, and dashed +his own whisky bottle through the window of the refreshment room.</p> +<p>‘Me ane o’ the polis!’ he yelled, and was staggering +towards the exit, when he was collared by two policemen, attracted by +the noise. He embraced one of them, murmuring ‘ma bonny +Jean!’ and then doubled up, his head lolling on his shoulder. +His legs and arms jerked convulsively, and he had at last to be carried +off, in the manner known as ‘The Frog’s March,’ by +four members of the force. The roughs followed, like chief mourners, +Merton thought, at the head of the attendant crowd.</p> +<p><!-- page 294--><span class="pagenum">p. 294</span>‘There’s +an end o’ your clash about the English gentleman,’ Merton +heard the quieter of his late companions observe to the obstinate inquirer. +‘But he’s a bonny singer. And noo, wull ye tell me +hoo we’re to win back to Drem the nicht?’</p> +<p>‘Dod, we’ll make a nicht o’t,’ said the other, +as Merton was carried into the police-station.</p> +<p>He permitted himself to be lifted into one of the cells, and then +remarked, in the most silvery tones:</p> +<p>‘Very many thanks, my good men. I need not give you any +more trouble, except by asking you, if possible, to get me some hot +water and soap, and to invite the inspector to favour me with his company.’</p> +<p>The men nearly dropped Merton, but, finding his feet, he stood up +and smiled blandly.</p> +<p>‘Pray make no apologies,’ he said. ‘It is +rather I who ought to apologise.’</p> +<p>‘He’s no drucken, and he’s no Scotch,’ remarked +one of the policemen.</p> +<p>‘But he’ll pass the nicht here, and maybe apologise to +the Baillie in the morning,’ said another.</p> +<p>‘Oh, pardon me, you mistake me,’ said Merton. ‘This +is not a stupid practical joke.’</p> +<p>‘It’s no a very gude ane,’ said the policeman.</p> +<p>Merton took out a handful of gold. ‘I wish to pay for +the broken window at once,’ he said. ‘It was a necessary +part of the <i>mise en scène</i>, of the stage effect, you know. +To call your attention.’</p> +<p>‘Ye’ll settle wi’ the Baillie in the morning,’ +said the policeman.</p> +<p>Things were looking untoward.</p> +<p>‘Look here,’ said Merton, ‘I quite understand your +<!-- page 295--><span class="pagenum">p. 295</span>point of view, it +does credit to your intelligence. You take me for an English tourist, +behaving as I have done by way of a joke, or for a bet?’</p> +<p>‘That’s it, sir,’ said the spokesman.</p> +<p>‘Well, it does look like that. But which of you is the +senior officer here?’</p> +<p>‘Me, sir,’ said the last speaker.</p> +<p>‘Very well, if you can be so kind as to call the officer in +charge of the station, or even one of senior standing—the higher +the better—I can satisfy him as to my identity, and as to my reasons +for behaving as I have done. I assure you that it is a matter +of the very gravest importance. If the inspector, when he has +seen me, permits, I have no objections to you, or to all of you hearing +what I have to say. But you will understand that this is a matter +for his own discretion. If I were merely playing the fool, you +must see that I have nothing to gain by giving additional annoyance +and offence.’</p> +<p>‘Very well, sir, I will bring the officer in charge,’ +said the policeman.</p> +<p>‘Just tell him about my arrest and so on,’ said Merton.</p> +<p>In a few minutes he returned with his superior.</p> +<p>‘Well, my man, what’s a’ this aboot?’ said +that officer sternly.</p> +<p>‘If you can give me an interview, alone, for five minutes, +I shall enlighten you,’ said Merton.</p> +<p>The officer was a huge and stalwart man. He threw his eye over +Merton. ‘Wait in the yaird,’ he said to his minions, +who retreated rather reluctantly. ‘Weel, speak up,’ +said the officer.</p> +<p><!-- page 296--><span class="pagenum">p. 296</span>‘It is the +body snatching case at Kirkburn,’ said Merton.</p> +<p>‘Do ye mean that ye’re an English detective?’</p> +<p>‘No, merely a friend of Mr. Logan’s who left Kirkburn +this evening. I have business to do for him in London in connection +with the case—business that nobody can do but myself—and +the house was watched. I escaped in the disguise which you see +me wearing, and had to throw off a gang of ruffians that accompanied +me in the train by pretending to be drunk. I could only shake +them off and destroy the suspicions which they expressed by getting +arrested.’</p> +<p>‘It’s a queer story,’ said the policeman.</p> +<p>‘It <i>is</i> a queer story, but, speaking without knowledge, +I think your best plan is to summon the chief of your detective department, +I need his assistance. And I can prove my identity to him—to +<i>you</i>, if you like, but you know best what is official etiquette.’</p> +<p>‘I’ll telephone for him, sir.’</p> +<p>‘You are very obliging. All this is confidential, you +know. Expense is no object to Mr. Logan, and he will not be ungrateful +if strict secrecy is preserved. But, of all things, I want a wash.’</p> +<p>‘All right, sir,’ said the policeman, and in a few minutes +Merton’s head, hands, and neck, were restored to their pristine +propriety.</p> +<p>‘No more kailyard talk for me,’ he thought, with satisfaction.</p> +<p>The head of the detective department arrived in no long time. +He was in evening dress. Merton rose and bowed.</p> +<p><!-- page 297--><span class="pagenum">p. 297</span>‘What’s +your story, sir?’ the chief asked; ‘it has brought me from +a dinner party at my own house.’</p> +<p>‘I deeply regret it,’ said Merton, ‘though, for +my purpose, it is the merest providence.’</p> +<p>‘What do you mean, sir?’</p> +<p>‘Your subordinate has doubtless told you all that I told him?’</p> +<p>The chief nodded.</p> +<p>‘Do you—I mean as an official—believe me?’</p> +<p>‘I would be glad of proof of your personal identity.’</p> +<p>‘That is easily given. You may know Mr. Lumley, the Professor +of Toxicology in the University here?’</p> +<p>‘I have met him often on matters of our business.’</p> +<p>‘He is an old college friend of mine, and can remove any doubts +you may entertain. His wife is a tall woman luckily,’ added +Merton to himself, much to the chief’s bewilderment.</p> +<p>‘Mr. Lumley’s word would quite satisfy me,’ said +the chief.</p> +<p>‘Very well, pray lend me your attention. This affair—’</p> +<p>‘The body snatching at Kirkburn?’ asked the chief.</p> +<p>‘Exactly,’ said Merton. ‘This affair is very +well organised. Your house is probably being observed. Now +what I propose is <i>this</i>. I can go nowhere dressed as I am. +You will, if you please, first send a constable, in uniform, to your +house with orders to wait till you return. Next, I shall dress, +by your permission, in any spare uniform you may have here <!-- page 298--><span class="pagenum">p. 298</span>and +in that costume I shall leave this office and accompany you to your +house in a closed cab. You will enter it, bring out a hat and +cloak, come into the cab, and I shall put them on, leaving my policeman’s +helmet in the cab, which will wait. Then, minutes later, the constable +will come out, take the cab, and drive to any police office you please. +Once within your house, I shall exchange my uniform for any old evening +suit you may be able to lend me, and, when your guests have departed, +you and I will drive together to Professor Lumley’s, where he +will identify me. After that, my course is perfectly clear, and +I need give you no further trouble.’</p> +<p>‘It is too complicated, sir,’ said the chief, smiling. +‘I don’t know your name?’</p> +<p>‘Merton,’ said our hero, ‘and yours?’</p> +<p>‘Macnab. I can lend you a plain suit of morning clothes +from here, and we don’t want the stratagem of the constable. +You don’t even need the extra trouble of putting on evening dress +in my house.’</p> +<p>‘How very fortunate,’ said Merton, and in a quarter of +an hour he was attired as a simple citizen, and was driving to the house +of Mr. Macnab. Here he was merely introduced to the guests—it +was a men’s party—as a gentleman from England on business. +The guests had too much tact to tarry long, and by eleven o’clock +the chief and Merton were ringing at the door bell of Professor Lumley. +The servant knew both of them, and ushered them into the professor’s +study. He was reading examination papers. Mrs. Lumley had +not returned from a party. Lumley greeted Merton warmly.</p> +<p><!-- page 299--><span class="pagenum">p. 299</span>‘I am passing +through Edinburgh, and thought I might find you at home,’ Merton +said.</p> +<p>‘Mr. Macnab,’ said Lumley, shaking hands with the chief, +‘you have not taken my friend into custody?’</p> +<p>‘No, professor; Mr. Merton will tell you that he is released, +and I’ll be going home.’</p> +<p>‘You won’t stop and smoke?’</p> +<p>‘No, I should be <i>de trop</i>,’ answered the chief; +‘good night, professor; good night, Mr. Merton.’</p> +<p>‘But the broken window?’</p> +<p>‘Oh, we’ll settle that, and let you have the bill.’</p> +<p>Merton gave his club address, and the chief shook hands and departed.</p> +<p>‘Now, what <i>have</i> you been doing, Merton?’ asked +Lumley.</p> +<p>Merton briefly explained the whole set of circumstances, and added, +‘Now, Lumley, you are my sole hope. You can give me a bed +to-night?’</p> +<p>‘With all the pleasure in the world.’</p> +<p>‘And lend me a set of Mrs. Lumley’s raiment and a lady’s +portmanteau?’</p> +<p>‘Are you quite mad?’</p> +<p>‘No, but I must get to London undiscovered, and, for certain +reasons, with which I need not trouble you, that is absolutely the only +possible way. You remember, at Oxford, I made up fairly well for +female parts.’</p> +<p>‘Is there absolutely no other way?’</p> +<p>‘None, I have tried every conceivable plan, mentally. +Mourning is best, and a veil.’</p> +<p><!-- page 300--><span class="pagenum">p. 300</span>At this moment +Mrs. Lumley’s cab was heard, returning from her party.</p> +<p>‘Run down and break it to Mrs. Lumley,’ said Merton. +‘Luckily we have often acted together.’</p> +<p>‘Luckily you are a favourite of hers,’ said Lumley.</p> +<p>In ten minutes the pair entered the study. Mrs. Lumley, a tall +lady, as Merton had said, came in, laughing and blushing.</p> +<p>‘I shall drive with you myself to the train. My maid +must be in the secret,’ she said.</p> +<p>‘She is an old acquaintance of mine,’ said Merton. +‘But I think you had better not come with me to the station. +Nobody is likely to see me, leaving your house about nine, with my veil +down. But, if any one <i>does</i> see me, he must take me for +you.’</p> +<p>‘Oh, it is I who am running up to town incognita?’</p> +<p>‘For a day or two—you will lend me a portmanteau to give +local colour?’</p> +<p>‘With pleasure,’ said Mrs. Lumley.</p> +<p>‘And Lumley will telegraph to Trevor to meet you at King’s +Cross, with his brougham, at 6.15 P. M.?’</p> +<p>This also was agreed to, and so ended this romance of Bradshaw.</p> +<h3>IV. Greek meets Greek</h3> +<p>At about twenty-five minutes to seven, on March 7, the express entered +King’s Cross. A lady of fashionable appearance, with her +veil down, gazed anxiously out of the window of a reserved carriage. +She presently detected the person for whom she was looking, and waved +her parasol. Trevor, lifting his <!-- page 301--><span class="pagenum">p. 301</span>hat, +approached; the lady had withdrawn into the carriage, and he entered.</p> +<p>‘Mum’s the word!’ said the lady.</p> +<p>‘Why, it’s—hang it all, it’s Merton!’</p> +<p>‘Your sister is staying with you?’ asked Merton eagerly.</p> +<p>‘Yes; but what on earth—’</p> +<p>‘I’ll tell you in the brougham. But you take a +weight off my bosom! I am going to stay with you for a day or +two; and now my reputation (or Mrs. Lumley’s) is safe. Your +servants never saw Mrs. Lumley?’</p> +<p>‘Never,’ said Trevor.</p> +<p>‘All right! My portmanteau has her initials, S. M. L., +and a crimson ticket; send a porter for it. Now take me to the +brougham.’</p> +<p>Trevor offered his arm and carried the dressing-bag; the lady was +led to his carriage. The portmanteau was recovered, and they drove +away.</p> +<p>‘Give me a cigarette,’ said Merton, ‘and I’ll +tell you all about it.’</p> +<p>He told Trevor all about it—except about the emu’s feathers.</p> +<p>‘But a male disguise would have done as well,’ said Trevor</p> +<p>‘Not a bit. It would not have suited what I have to do +in town. I cannot tell you why. The affair is complex. +I have to settle it, if I can, so that neither Logan nor any one else—except +the body-snatcher and polite letter-writer—shall ever know how +I managed it.’</p> +<p>Trevor had to be content with this reply. He took <!-- page 302--><span class="pagenum">p. 302</span>Merton, +when they arrived, into the smoking-room, rang for tea, and ‘squared +his sister,’ as he said, in the drawing-room. The pair were +dining out, and after a solitary dinner, Merton (in a tea-gown) occupied +himself with literary composition. He put his work in a large +envelope, sealed it, marked it with a St. Andrew’s cross, and, +when Trevor returned, asked him to put it in his safe. ‘Two +days after to-morrow, if I do not appear, you must open the envelope +and read the contents,’ he said.</p> +<p>After luncheon on the following day—a wet day—Miss Trevor +and Merton (who was still arrayed as Mrs. Lumley) went out shopping. +Miss Trevor then drove off to pay a visit (Merton could not let her +know his next move), and he himself, his veil down, took a four-wheeled +cab, and drove to Madame Claudine’s. He made one or two +purchases, and then asked for the head of the establishment, an Irish +lady. To her he confided that he had to break a piece of distressing +family news to Miss Markham, of the cloak department; that young lady +was summoned; Madame Claudine, with a face of sympathy, ushered them +into her private room, and went off to see a customer. Miss Markham +was pale and trembling; Merton himself felt agitated.</p> +<p>‘Is it about my father, or—’ the girl asked.</p> +<p>‘Pray be calm,’ said Merton. ‘Sit down. +Both are well.’</p> +<p>The girl started. ‘Your voice—’ she said.</p> +<p>‘Exactly,’ said Merton; ‘you know me.’ +And taking off his glove, he showed a curious mediæval ring, familiar +to his friends. ‘I could get at you in <!-- page 303--><span class="pagenum">p. 303</span>no +other way than this,’ he said, ‘and it was absolutely necessary +to see you.’</p> +<p>‘What is it? I know it is about my father,’ said +the girl.</p> +<p>‘He has done us a great service,’ said Merton soothingly. +He had guessed what the ‘distressing circumstances’ were +in which the marquis had been restored to life. Perhaps the reader +guesses? A discreet person, who has secretly to take charge of +a corpse of pecuniary value, adopts certain measures (discovered by +the genius of ancient Egypt), for its preservation. These measures, +doubtless, had revived the marquis, who thus owed his life to his kidnapper.</p> +<p>‘He has, I think, done us a great service,’ Merton repeated; +and the girl’s colour returned to her beautiful face, that had +been of marble.</p> +<p>‘Yet there are untoward circumstances,’ Merton admitted. +‘I wish to ask you two or three questions. I must give you +my word of honour that I have no intention of injuring your father. +The reverse; I am really acting in his interests. Now, first, +he has practised in Australia. May I ask if he was interested +in the Aborigines?’</p> +<p>‘Yes, very much,’ said the girl, entirely puzzled. +‘But,’ she added, ‘he was never in the Labour trade.’</p> +<p>‘Blackbird catching?’ said Merton. ‘No. +But he had, perhaps, a collection of native arms and implements?’</p> +<p>‘Yes; a very fine one.’</p> +<p>‘Among them were, perhaps, some curious native <!-- page 304--><span class="pagenum">p. 304</span>shoes, +made of emu’s feathers—they are called <i>Interlinia</i> +or, by white men, <i>Kurdaitcha</i> shoes?’</p> +<p>‘I don’t remember the name,’ said Miss Markham, +‘but he had quite a number of them. The natives wear them +to conceal their tracks when they go on a revenge party.’</p> +<p>Merton’s guess was now a certainty. The marquis had spoken +of Miss Markham’s father as a ‘landlouping’ Australian +doctor. The footmarks of the feathered shoes in the snow at Kirkburn +proved that an article which only an Australian (or an anthropologist) +was likely to know of had been used by the body-snatchers.</p> +<p>Merton reflected. Should he ask the girl whether she had told +her father what, on the night of the marquis’s appearance at the +office, Logan had told her? He decided that this was superfluous; +of course she had told her father, and the doctor had taken his measures +(and the body of the marquis) accordingly. To ask a question would +only be to enlighten the girl.</p> +<p>‘That is very interesting,’ said Merton. ‘Now, +I won’t pretend that I disguised myself in this way merely to +ask you about Australian curiosities. The truth is that, in your +father’s interests, I must have an interview with him.’</p> +<p>‘You don’t mean to do him any harm?’ asked the +girl anxiously.</p> +<p>‘I have given you my word of honour. As things stand, +I do not conceal from you that I am the only person who can save him +from a situation which might be disagreeable, and that is what I want +to do.’</p> +<p><!-- page 305--><span class="pagenum">p. 305</span>‘He will +be quite safe if he sees you?’ asked the girl, wringing her hands.</p> +<p>‘That is the only way in which he can be safe, I am afraid.’</p> +<p>‘You would not use a girl against her own father?’</p> +<p>‘I would sooner die where I sit,’ said Merton earnestly. +‘Surely you can trust a friend of Mr. Logan’s—who, +by the bye, is very well.’</p> +<p>‘Oh, oh,’ cried the girl, ‘I read that story of +the stolen corpse in the papers. I understand!’</p> +<p>‘It was almost inevitable that you should understand,’ +said Merton.</p> +<p>‘But then,’ said the girl, ‘what did you mean by +saying that my father has done you a great service. You are deceiving +me. I have said too much. This is base!’ Miss Markham +rose, her eyes and cheeks burning.</p> +<p>‘What I told you is the absolute and entire truth,’ said +Merton, nearly as red as she was.</p> +<p>‘Then,’ exclaimed Miss Markham, ‘this is baser +yet! You must mean that by doing what you think he has done my +father has somehow enabled Robert—Mr. Logan—to come into +the marquis’s property. Perhaps the marquis left no will, +or the will—is gone! And do you believe that Mr. Logan will +thank you for acting in this way?’ She stood erect, her +hand resting on the back of a chair, indignant and defiant.</p> +<p>‘In the first place, I have a written power from Mr. Logan +to act as I think best. Next, I have not even informed myself +as to how the law of Scotland stands in regard to the estate of a man +who dies leaving no will. Lastly, Miss Markham, I am extremely +hampered <!-- page 306--><span class="pagenum">p. 306</span>by the fact +that Mr. Logan has not the remotest suspicion of what I suspected—and +now know—to be the truth as to the disappearance of his cousin’s +body. I successfully concealed my idea from Mr. Logan, so as to +avoid giving pain to him and you. I did my best to conceal it +from you, though I never expected to succeed. And now, if you +wish to know how your father has conferred a benefit on Mr. Logan, I +must tell you, though I would rather be silent. Mr. Logan is aware +of the benefit, but will never, if you can trust yourself, suspect his +benefactor.’</p> +<p>‘I can never, never see him again,’ the girl sobbed.</p> +<p>‘Time is flying,’ said Merton, who was familiar, in works +of fiction, with the situation indicated by the girl. ‘Can +you trust me, or not?’ he asked, ‘My single object is secrecy +and your father’s safety. I owe that to my friend, to you, +and even, as it happens, to your father. Can you enable me, dressed +as I am, to have an interview with him?’</p> +<p>‘You will not hurt him? You will not give him up? +You will not bring the police on him?’</p> +<p>‘I am acting as I do precisely for the purpose of keeping the +police off him. They have discovered nothing.’</p> +<p>The girl gave a sigh of relief.</p> +<p>‘Your father’s only danger would lie in my—failure +to return from my interview with him. Against <i>that</i> I cannot +safeguard him; it is fair to tell you so. But my success in persuading +him to adopt a certain course would be equally satisfactory to Mr. Logan +and to himself.’</p> +<p><!-- page 307--><span class="pagenum">p. 307</span>‘Mr. Logan +knows nothing?’</p> +<p>‘Absolutely nothing. I alone, and now you, know anything.’</p> +<p>The girl walked up and down in agony.</p> +<p>‘Nobody will ever know if I do not tell you how to find him,’ +she said.</p> +<p>‘Unhappily that is not the case. I only ask <i>you</i>, +so that it may not be necessary to take other steps, tardy, but certain, +and highly undesirable.’</p> +<p>‘You will not go to him armed?’</p> +<p>‘I give you my word of honour,’ said Merton. ‘I +have risked myself unarmed already.’</p> +<p>The girl paused with fixed eyes that saw nothing. Merton watched +her. Then she took her resolve.</p> +<p>‘I do not know where he is living. I know that on Wednesdays, +that is, the day after to-morrow, he is to be found at Dr. Fogarty’s, +a private asylum, a house with a garden, in Water Lane, Hammersmith.’</p> +<p>It was the lane in which stood the Home for Destitute and Decayed +Cats, whither Logan had once abducted Rangoon, the Siamese puss.</p> +<p>‘Thank you,’ said Merton simply. ‘And I am +to ask for?’</p> +<p>‘Ask first for Dr. Fogarty. You will tell him that you +wish to see the <i>Ertwa Oknurcha</i>.’</p> +<p>‘Ah, Australian for “The Big Man,”’ said +Merton.</p> +<p>‘I don’t know what it means,’ said Miss Markham. +‘Dr. Fogarty will then ask, “Have you the <i>churinga</i>?”’</p> +<p>The girl drew out a slim gold chain which hung round her neck and +under her dress. At the end of it was a dark piece of wood, shaped +much like a large <!-- page 308--><span class="pagenum">p. 308</span>cigar, +and decorated with incised concentric circles, stained red.</p> +<p>‘Take that and show it to Dr. Fogarty,’ said Miss Markham, +detaching the object from the chain.</p> +<p>Merton returned it to her. ‘I know where to get a similar +<i>churinga</i>,’ he said. ‘Keep your own. Its +absence, if asked for, might lead to awkward questions.’</p> +<p>‘Thank you, I can trust you,’ said Miss Markham, adding, +‘You will address my father as Dr. Melville.’</p> +<p>‘Again thanks, and good-bye,’ said Merton. He bowed +and withdrew.</p> +<p>‘She is a good deal upset, poor girl,’ Merton remarked +to Madame Claudine, who, on going to comfort Miss Markham with tea, +found her weeping. Merton took another cab, and drove to Trevor’s +house.</p> +<p>After dinner (at which there were no guests), and in the smoking-room, +Trevor asked whether he had made any progress.</p> +<p>‘Everything succeeded to a wish,’ said Merton. +‘You remember Water Lane?’</p> +<p>‘Where Logan carried the Siamese cat in my cab,’ said +Trevor, grinning at the reminiscence. ‘Rather! I reconnoitred +the place with Logan.’</p> +<p>‘Well, on the day after to-morrow I have business there.’</p> +<p>‘Not at the Cats’ Home?’</p> +<p>‘No, but perhaps you might reconnoitre again. Do you +remember a house with high walls and spikes on them?’</p> +<p>‘I do,’ said Trevor; ‘but how do you know? +You <!-- page 309--><span class="pagenum">p. 309</span>never were there. +You disapproved of Logan’s method in the case of the cat.’</p> +<p>‘I never was there; I only made a guess, because the house +I am interested in is a private asylum.’</p> +<p>‘Well, you guessed right. What then?’</p> +<p>‘You might reconnoitre the ground to-morrow—the exits, +there are sure to be some towards waste land or market gardens.’</p> +<p>‘Jolly!’ said Trevor. ‘I’ll make up +as a wanderer from Suffolk, looking for a friend in the slums; semi-bargee +kind of costume.’</p> +<p>‘That would do,’ said Merton. ‘But you had +better go in the early morning.’</p> +<p>‘A nuisance. Why?’</p> +<p>‘Because, later, you will have to get a gang of fellows to +be about the house the day after, when I pay my visit.’</p> +<p>‘Fellows of our own sort, or the police?’</p> +<p>‘Neither. I thought of fellows of our own sort. +They would talk and guess.’</p> +<p>‘Better get some of Ned Mahony’s gang?’ asked Trevor.</p> +<p>Mr. Mahony was an ex-pugilist, and a distinguished instructor in +the art of self-defence. He also was captain of a gang of ‘chuckers +out.’</p> +<p>‘Yes,’ said Merton, ‘that is my idea. <i>They</i> +will guess, too; but when they know the place is a private lunatic asylum +their hypothesis is obvious.’</p> +<p>‘They’ll think that a patient is to be rescued?’</p> +<p>‘That will be their idea. And the old trick is a good +trick. Cart of coals blocked in the gateway, or with another cart—the +bigger the better—in the <!-- page 310--><span class="pagenum">p. 310</span>lane. +The men will dress accordingly. Others will have stolen to the +back and sides of the house; you will, in short, stop the earths after +I enter. Your brougham, after setting me down, will wait in Hammersmith +Road, or whatever the road outside is.’</p> +<p>‘I may come?’ asked Trevor.</p> +<p>‘In command, as a coal carter.’</p> +<p>‘Hooray!’ said Trevor, ‘and I’ll tell you +what, I won’t reconnoitre as a bargee, but as a servant out of +livery sent to look for a cat at the Home. And I’ll mistake +the asylum for the Home for Cats, and try to scout a little inside the +gates.’</p> +<p>‘Capital,’ said Merton. ‘Then, later, I want +you to go to a curiosity shop near the Museum’ (he mentioned the +street), ‘and look into the window. You’ll see a little +brown piece of wood like <i>this</i>.’ Merton sketched rapidly +the piece of wood which Miss Markham wore under her dress. ‘The +man has several. Buy one about the size of a big cigar for me, +and buy one or two other trifles first.’</p> +<p>‘The man knows me,’ said Trevor, ‘I have bought +things from him.’</p> +<p>‘Very good, but don’t buy it when any other customer +is in the shop. And, by the way, take Mrs. Lumley’s portmanteau—the +lock needs mending—to Jones’s in Sloane Street to be repaired. +One thing more, I should like to add a few lines to that manuscript +I gave you to keep in your safe.’</p> +<p>Trevor brought the sealed envelope. Merton added a paragraph +and resealed it. Trevor locked it up again.</p> +<p><!-- page 311--><span class="pagenum">p. 311</span>On the following +day Trevor started early, did his scouting in Water Lane, and settled +with Mr. Mahony about his gang of muscular young prize-fighters. +He also brought the native Australian curiosity, and sent Mrs. Lumley’s +portmanteau to have the lock repaired.</p> +<p>Merton determined to call at Dr. Fogarty’s asylum at four in +the afternoon. The gang, under Trevor, was to arrive half an hour +later, and to surround and enter the premises if Merton did not emerge +within half an hour.</p> +<p>At four o’clock exactly Trevor’s brougham was at the +gates of the asylum. The footman rang the bell, a porter opened +a wicket, and admitted a lady of fashionable aspect, who asked for Dr. +Fogarty. She was ushered into his study, her card (‘Louise, +13 --- Street’) was taken by the servant, and Dr. Fogarty appeared. +He was a fair, undecided looking man, with blue wandering eyes, and +long untidy, reddish whiskers. He bowed and looked uncomfortable, +as well he might.</p> +<p>‘I have called to see the <i>Ertwa Oknurcha</i>, Dr. Fogarty,’ +said Merton.</p> +<p>‘Oh Lord,’ said Dr. Fogarty, and murmured, ‘Another +of his lady friends!’ adding, ‘I must ask, Miss, have you +the <i>churinga</i>?’</p> +<p>Merton produced, out of his muff, the Australian specimen which Trevor +had bought.</p> +<p>The doctor inspected it. ‘I shall take it to the <i>Ertwa +Oknurcha</i>,’ he said, and shambled out. Presently he returned. +‘He will see you, Miss.’</p> +<p>Merton found the redoubtable Dr. Markham, an elderly man, clean shaven, +prompt-looking, with very <!-- page 312--><span class="pagenum">p. 312</span>keen +dark eyes, sitting at a writing table, with a few instruments of his +profession lying about. The table stood on an oblong space of +uncarpeted and polished flooring of some extent. Dr. Fogarty withdrew, +the other doctor motioned Merton to a chair on the opposite side of +the table. This chair was also on the uncarpeted space, and Merton +observed four small brass plates in the parquet. Arranging his +draperies, and laying aside his muff, Merton sat down, slightly shifting +the position of the chair.</p> +<p>‘Perhaps, Dr. Melville,’ he said, ‘it will be more +reassuring to you if I at once hold my hands up,’ and he sat there +and smiled, holding up his neatly gloved hands.</p> +<p>The doctor stared, and <i>his</i> hand stole towards an instrument +like an unusually long stethoscope, which lay on his table.</p> +<p>Merton sat there ‘hands up,’ still smiling. ‘Ah, +the blow-tube?’ he said. ‘Very good and quiet! +Do you use <i>urali</i>? Infinitely better, at close quarters, +than the noisy old revolver.’</p> +<p>‘I see I have to do with a cool hand, sir,’ said the +doctor.</p> +<p>‘Ah,’ said Merton. ‘Then let us talk as between +man and man.’ He tilted his chair backwards, and crossed +his legs. ‘By the way, as I have no Aaron and Hur to help +me to hold up my hands, may I drop them? The attitude, though +reassuring, is fatiguing.’</p> +<p>‘If you won’t mind first allowing me to remove your muff,’ +said the doctor. It lay on the table in front of Merton.</p> +<p>‘By all means, no gun in my muff,’ said Merton. +<!-- page 313--><span class="pagenum">p. 313</span>‘In fact I +think the whole pistol business is overdone, and second rate.’</p> +<p>‘I presume that I have the honour to speak to Mr. Merton?’ +asked the doctor. ‘You slipped through the cordon?’</p> +<p>‘Yes, I was the intoxicated miner,’ said Merton. +‘No doubt you have received a report from your agents?’</p> +<p>‘Stupid fellows,’ said the doctor.</p> +<p>‘You are not flattering to me, but let us come to business. +How much?’</p> +<p>‘I need hardly ask,’ said the doctor, ‘it would +be an insult to your intelligence, whether you have taken the usual +precautions?’</p> +<p>Merton, whose chair was tilted, threw himself violently backwards, +upsetting his chair, and then scrambled nimbly to his feet. Between +him and the table yawned a square black hole of unknown depth.</p> +<p>‘Hardly fair, Dr. Melville,’ said he, picking up the +chair, and placing it on the carpet, ‘besides, I <i>have</i> taken +the ordinary precautions. The house is surrounded—Ned Mahony’s +lambs—the usual statement is in the safe of a friend. We +must really come to the point. Time is flying,’ and he looked +at his watch. ‘I can give you twenty minutes.’</p> +<p>‘Have you anything in the way of terms to propose?’ asked +the doctor, filling his pipe.</p> +<p>‘Well, first, absolute secrecy. I alone know the state +of the case.’</p> +<p>‘Has Mr. Logan no guess?’</p> +<p>‘Not the faintest suspicion. The detectives, when I left +Kirkburn, had not even found the trap door, you <!-- page 314--><span class="pagenum">p. 314</span>understand. +You hit on its discovery through knowing the priest’s hole at +Oxburgh Hall, I suppose?’</p> +<p>The doctor nodded.</p> +<p>‘You can guarantee absolute secrecy?’ he asked.</p> +<p>‘Naturally, the knowledge is confined to me, you, and your +partners. I want the secrecy in Mr. Logan’s interests, and +you know why.’</p> +<p>‘Well,’ said the doctor, ‘that is point one. +So far I am with you.’</p> +<p>‘Then, to enter on odious details,’ said Merton, ‘had +you thought of any terms?’</p> +<p>‘The old man was stiff,’ said the doctor, ‘and +your side only offered to double him in your advertisement, you know.’</p> +<p>‘That was merely a way of speaking,’ said Merton. +‘What did the marquis propose?’</p> +<p>‘Well, as his offer is not a basis of negotiation?’</p> +<p>‘Certainly not,’ said Merton.</p> +<p>‘Five hundred he offered, out of which we were to pay his fare +back to Scotland.’</p> +<p>Both men laughed.</p> +<p>‘But you have your own ideas?’ said Merton.</p> +<p>‘I had thought of 15,000<i>l</i>. and leaving England. +He is a multimillionaire, the marquis.’</p> +<p>‘It is rather a pull,’ said Merton. ‘Now +speaking as a professional man, and on honour, how <i>is</i> his lordship?’ +Merton asked.</p> +<p>‘Speaking as a professional man, he <i>may</i> live a year; +he cannot live eighteen months, I stake my reputation on that.’</p> +<p>Merton mused.</p> +<p>‘I’ll tell you what we can do,’ he said. +‘We can <!-- page 315--><span class="pagenum">p. 315</span>guarantee +the interest, at a fancy rate, say five per cent, during the marquis’s +life, which you reckon as good for a year and a half, at most. +The lump sum we can pay on his decease.’</p> +<p>The doctor mused in his turn.</p> +<p>‘I don’t like it. He may alter his will, and then—where +do I come in?’</p> +<p>‘Of course that is an objection,’ said Merton. +‘But where do you come in if you refuse? Logan, I can assure +you (I have read up the Scots law since I came to town), is the heir +if the marquis dies intestate. Suppose that I do not leave this +house in a few minutes, Logan won’t bargain with you; we settled +<i>that</i>; and really you will have taken a great deal of trouble +to your own considerable risk. You see the usual document, my +statement, is lodged with a friend.’</p> +<p>‘There is certainly a good deal in what you say,’ remarked +the doctor.</p> +<p>‘Then, to take a more cheerful view,’ said Merton, ‘I +have medical authority for stating that any will made now, or later, +by the marquis, would probably be upset, on the ground of mental unsoundness, +you know. So Logan would succeed, in spite of a later will.’</p> +<p>The doctor smiled. ‘That point I grant. Well, one +must chance something. I accept your proposals. You will +give me a written agreement, signed by Mr. Logan, for the arrangement.’</p> +<p>‘Yes, I have power to act.’</p> +<p>‘Then, Mr. Merton, why in the world did you not let your friend +walk in Burlington Arcade, and see the <!-- page 316--><span class="pagenum">p. 316</span>lady? +He would have been met with the same terms, and could have proposed +the same modifications.’</p> +<p>‘Well, Dr. Melville, first, I was afraid that he might accidentally +discover the real state of the case, as I surmised that it existed—that +might have led to family inconveniences, you know.’</p> +<p>‘Yes,’ the doctor admitted, ‘I have felt that. +My poor daughter, a good girl, sir! It wrung my heartstrings, +I assure you.’</p> +<p>‘I have the warmest sympathy with you,’ said Merton, +going on. ‘Well, in the second place, I was not sure that +I could trust Mr. Logan, who has rather a warm temper, to conduct the +negotiations. Thirdly, I fear I must confess that I did what I +have done—well, “for human pleasure.”’</p> +<p>‘Ah, you are young,’ said the doctor, sighing.</p> +<p>‘Now,’ said Merton, ‘shall I sign a promise? +We can call Dr. Fogarty up to witness it. By the bye, what about +“value received”? Shall we say that we purchase your +ethnological collection?’</p> +<p>The doctor grinned, and assented, the deed was written, signed, and +witnessed by Dr. Fogarty, who hastily retreated.</p> +<p>‘Now about restoring the marquis,’ said Merton. +‘He’s here, of course; it was easy enough to get him into +an asylum. Might I suggest a gag, if by chance you have such a +thing about you? To be removed, of course, when once I get him +into the house of a friend. And the usual bandage over his eyes: +he must never know where he has been.’</p> +<p>‘You think of everything, Mr. Merton,’ said the doctor. +‘But, how are you to account for the marquis’s reappearance +alive?’ he asked.</p> +<p><!-- page 317--><span class="pagenum">p. 317</span>‘Oh <i>that</i>—easily! +My first theory, which I fortunately mentioned to his medical attendant, +Dr. Douglas, in the train, before I reached Kirkburn, was that he had +recovered from catalepsy, and had secretly absconded, for the purpose +of watching Mr. Logan’s conduct. We shall make him believe +that this is the fact, and the old woman who watched him—’</p> +<p>‘Plucky old woman,’ said the doctor.</p> +<p>‘Will swear to anything that he chooses to say.’</p> +<p>‘Well, that is your affair,’ said the doctor.</p> +<p>‘Now,’ said Merton, ‘give me a receipt for 750<i>l</i>.; +we shall tell the marquis that we had to spring 250<i>l</i>. on his +original offer.’</p> +<p>The doctor wrote out, stamped, and signed the receipt. ‘Perhaps +I had better walk in front of you down stairs?’ he asked Merton.</p> +<p>‘Perhaps it really would be more hospitable,’ Merton +acquiesced.</p> +<p>Merton was ushered again into Dr. Fogarty’s room on the ground +floor. Presently the other doctor reappeared, leading a bent and +much muffled up figure, who preserved total silence—for excellent +reasons. The doctor handed to Merton a sealed envelope, obviously +the marquis’s will. Merton looked closely into the face +of the old marquis, whose eyes, dropping senile tears, showed no sign +of recognition.</p> +<p>Dr. Fogarty next adjusted a silken bandage, over a wad of cotton +wool, which he placed on the eyes of the prisoner.</p> +<p>Merton then took farewell of Dr. Melville (<i>alias</i> Markham); +he and Dr. Fogarty supported the tottering <!-- page 318--><span class="pagenum">p. 318</span>steps +of Lord Restalrig, and they led him to the gate.</p> +<p>‘Tell the porter to call my brougham,’ said Merton to +Dr. Fogarty.</p> +<p>The brougham was called and came to the gate, evading a coal-cart +which was about to enter the lane. Merton aided the marquis to +enter, and said ‘Home.’ A few rough fellows, who were +loitering in the lane, looked curiously on. In half an hour the +marquis, his gag and the bandage round his eyes removed, was sitting +in Trevor’s smoking-room, attended to by Miss Trevor.</p> +<p>It is probably needless to describe the simple and obvious process +(rather like that of the Man, the Goose, and the Fox) by which Mrs. +Lumley, with her portmanteau, left Trevor’s house that evening +to pay another visit, while Merton himself arrived, in evening dress, +to dinner at a quarter past eight. He had telegraphed to Logan: +‘Entirely successful. Come up by the 11.30 to-night, and +bring Mrs. Bower.’</p> +<p>The marquis did not appear at dinner. He was in bed, and, thanks +to a sleeping potion, slumbered soundly. He awoke about nine in +the morning to find Mrs. Bower by his bedside.</p> +<p>‘Eh, marquis, finely we have jinked them,’ said Mrs. +Bower; and she went on to recount the ingenious measures by which the +marquis, recovering from his ‘dwawm,’ had secretly withdrawn +himself.</p> +<p>‘I mind nothing of it, Jeanie, my woman,’ said the marquis. +‘I thought I wakened with some deevil running a knife into me; +he might have gone further, <!-- page 319--><span class="pagenum">p. 319</span>and +I might have fared worse. He asked for money, but, faith, we niffered +long and came to no bargain. And a woman brought me away. +Who was the woman?’</p> +<p>‘Oh, dreams,’ said Mrs. Bower. ‘Ye had another +sair fit o’ the dwawming, and we brought you here to see the London +doctors. Hoo could ony mortal speerit ye away, let be it was the +fairies, and me watching you a’ the time! A fine gliff ye +gie’d me when ye sat up and askit for sma’ yill’ (small +beer).</p> +<p>‘I mind nothing of it,’ replied the marquis. However, +Mrs. Bower stuck to her guns, and the marquis was, or appeared to be, +resigned to accept her explanation. He dozed throughout the day, +but next day he asked for Merton. Their interview was satisfactory; +Merton begged leave to introduce Logan, and the marquis, quite broken +down, received his kinsman with tears, and said nothing about his marriage.</p> +<p>‘I’m a dying man,’ he remarked finally, ‘but +I’ll live long enough to chouse the taxes.’</p> +<p>His sole idea was to hand over (in the old Scottish fashion) the +main part of his property to Logan, <i>inter vivos</i>, and then to +live long enough to evade the death-duties. Merton and Logan knew +well enough the unsoundness of any such proceedings, especially considering +the mental debility of the old gentleman. However, the papers +were made out. The marquis retired to one of his English seats, +after which event his reappearance was made known to the world. +In his English home Logan sedulously nursed him. A more generous +diet than he had ever known before <!-- page 320--><span class="pagenum">p. 320</span>did +wonders for the marquis, though he peevishly remonstrated against every +bottle of wine that was uncorked. He did live for the span which +he deemed necessary for his patriotic purpose, and peacefully expired, +his last words being ‘Nae grand funeral.’</p> +<p>Public curiosity, of course, was keenly excited about the mysterious +reappearance of the marquis in life. But the interviewers could +extract nothing from Mrs. Bower, and Logan declined to be interviewed. +To paragraphists the mystery of the marquis was ‘a two months’ +feast,’ like the case of Elizabeth Canning, long ago.</p> +<p>Logan inherited under the marquis’s original will, and, of +course, the Exchequer benefitted in the way which Lord Restalrig had +tried to frustrate.</p> +<p>Miss Markham (whose father is now the distinguished head of the ethnological +department in an American museum) did not persist in her determination +never to see Logan again. The beautiful Lady Fastcastle never +allows her photograph to appear in the illustrated weekly papers. +Logan, or rather Fastcastle, does not unto this day, know the secret +of the Emu’s feathers, though, later, he sorely tried the secretiveness +of Merton, as shall be shown in the following narrative.</p> +<h2><!-- page 321--><span class="pagenum">p. 321</span>XII. ADVENTURE +OF THE CANADIAN HEIRESS</h2> +<h3>I. At Castle Skrae</h3> +<p>‘How vain a thing is wealth,’ said Merton. ‘How +little it can give of what we really desire, while of all that is lost +and longed for it can restore nothing—except churches—and +to do <i>that</i> ought to be made a capital offence.’</p> +<p>‘Why do you contemplate life as a whole, Mr. Merton? +Why are you so moral? If you think it is amusing you are very +much mistaken! Isn’t the scenery, isn’t the weather, +beautiful enough for you? <i>I</i> could gaze for ever at the +“unquiet bright Atlantic plain,” the rocky isles, those +cliffs of basalt on either hand, while I listened to the crystal stream +that slips into the sea, and waves the yellow fringes of the seaweed. +Don’t be melancholy, or I go back to the castle. Try another +line!’</p> +<p>‘Ah, I doubt that I shall never wet one here,’ said Merton.</p> +<p>‘As to the crystal stream, what business has it to be crystal? +That is just what I complain of. Salmon and sea-trout are waiting +out there in the bay and they can’t come up! Not a drop +of rain to call rain for the last three weeks. That is what I +meant by <!-- page 322--><span class="pagenum">p. 322</span>moralising +about wealth. You can buy half a county, if you have the money; +you can take half a dozen rivers, but all the millions of our host cannot +purchase us a spate, and without a spate you might as well break the +law by fishing in the Round Pond as in the river.’</p> +<p>‘Luckily for me Alured does not much care for fishing,’ +said Lady Bude, who was Merton’s companion. The Countess +had abandoned, much to her lord’s regret, the coloured and figurative +language of her maiden days, the American slang. Now (as may have +been observed) her style was of that polished character which can only +be heard to perfection in circles socially elevated and intellectually +cultured—‘in that Garden of the Souls’—to quote +Tennyson.</p> +<p>The spot where Merton and Lady Bude were seated was beautiful indeed. +They reclined on the short sea grass above a shore where long tresses +of saffron-hued seaweed clothed the boulders, and the bright sea pinks +blossomed. On their right the Skrae, now clearer than amber, mingled +its waters with the sea loch. On their left was a steep bank clad +with bracken, climbing up to perpendicular cliffs of basalt. These +ended abruptly above the valley and the cove, and permitted a view of +the Atlantic, in which, far away, the isle of the Lewis lay like a golden +shield in the faint haze of the early sunset. On the other side +of the sea loch, whose restless waters ever rushed in or out like a +rapid river, with the change of tides, was a small village of white +thatched cottages, the homes of fishermen and crofters. The neat +crofts lay behind, in oblong strips, on the side of the hill. +Such <!-- page 323--><span class="pagenum">p. 323</span>was the scene +of a character common on the remote west coast of Sutherland.</p> +<p>‘Alured is no maniac for fishing, luckily,’ Lady Bude +was saying. ‘To-day he is cat-hunting.’</p> +<p>‘I regret it,’ said Merton; ‘I profess myself the +friend of cats.’</p> +<p>‘He is only trying to photograph a wild cat at home in the +hills; they are very scarce.’</p> +<p>‘In fact he is Jones Harvey, the naturalist again, for the +nonce, not the sportsman,’ said Merton.</p> +<p>‘It was as Jones Harvey that he—’ said Lady Bude, +and, blushing, stopped.</p> +<p>‘That he grasped the skirts of happy chance,’ said Merton.</p> +<p>‘Why don’t <i>you</i> grasp the skirts, Mr. Merton?’ +asked Lady Bude. ‘Chance, or rather Lady Fortune, who wears +the skirts, would, I think, be happy to have them grasped.’</p> +<p>‘Whose skirts do you allude to?’</p> +<p>‘The skirts, short enough in the Highlands, of Miss Macrae,’ +said Lady Bude; ‘she is a nice girl, and a pretty girl, and a +clever girl, and, after all, there are worse things than millions.’</p> +<p>Miss Emmeline Macrae was the daughter of the host with whom the Budes +and Merton were staying at Skrae Castle, on Loch Skrae, only an easy +mile and a half from the sea and the cove beside which Merton and Lady +Bude were sitting.</p> +<p>‘There is a seal crawling out on to the shore of the little +island!’ said Merton. ‘What a brute a man must be +who shoots a seal! I could watch them all day—on a day like +this.’</p> +<p><!-- page 324--><span class="pagenum">p. 324</span>‘That is +not answering my question,’ said Lady Bude. ‘What +do you think of Miss Macrae? I <i>know</i> what you think!’</p> +<p>‘Can a humble person like myself aspire to the daughter of +the greatest living millionaire? Our host can do almost anything +but bring a spate, and even <i>that</i> he could do by putting a dam +with a sluice at the foot of Loch Skrae: a matter of a few thousands +only. As for the lady, her heart it is another’s, it never +can be mine.’</p> +<p>‘Whose it is?’ asked Lady Bude.</p> +<p>‘Is it not, or do my trained instincts deceive me, that of +young Blake, the new poet? Is she not “the girl who gives +to song what gold could never buy”? He is as handsome as +a man has no business to be.’</p> +<p>‘He uses belladonna for his eyes,’ said Lady Bude. +‘I am sure of it.’</p> +<p>‘Well, she does not know, or does not mind, and they are pretty +inseparable the last day or two.’</p> +<p>‘That is your own fault,’ said Lady Bude; ‘you +banter the poet so cruelly. She pities him.’</p> +<p>‘I wonder that our host lets the fellow keep staying here,’ +said Merton. ‘If Mr. Macrae has a foible, except that of +the pedigree of the Macraes (who were here before the Macdonalds or +Mackenzies, and have come back in his person), it is scientific inventions, +electric lighting, and his new toy, the wireless telegraph box in the +observatory. You can see the tower from here, and the pole with +box on top. I don’t care for that kind of thing myself, +but Macrae thinks it Paradise to get messages from the Central News +and the Stock Exchange up here, fifty miles <!-- page 325--><span class="pagenum">p. 325</span>from +a telegraph post. Well, yesterday Blake was sneering at the whole +affair.’</p> +<p>‘What is this wireless machine? Explain it to me,’ +said Lady Bude.</p> +<p>‘How can you be so cruel?’ asked Merton.</p> +<p>‘Why cruel?’</p> +<p>‘Oh, you know very well how your sex receives explanations. +You have three ways of doing it.’</p> +<p>‘Explain <i>them</i>!’</p> +<p>‘Well, the first way is, if a man tries to explain what “per +cent” means, or the difference of “odds on,” or “odds +against,” that is, if they don’t gamble, they cast their +hands desperately abroad, and cry, “Oh, don’t, I never <i>can</i> +understand!” The second way is to sit and smile, and look +intelligent, and think of their dressmaker, or their children, or their +young man, and then to say, “Thank you, you have made it all so +clear!”’</p> +<p>‘And the third way?’</p> +<p>‘The third way is for you to make it plain to the explainer +that he does not understand what he is explaining.’</p> +<p>‘Well, try me; how does the wireless machine work?’</p> +<p>‘Then, to begin with a simple example in ordinary life, you +know what telepathy is?’</p> +<p>‘Of course, but tell me.’</p> +<p>‘Suppose Jones is thinking of Smith, or rather of Smith’s +sister. Jones is dying, or in a row, in India. Miss Smith +is in Bayswater. She sees Jones in her drawing-room. The +thought of Jones has struck a receiver of some sort in the brain, say, +of Miss Smith. <!-- page 326--><span class="pagenum">p. 326</span><i>But</i> +Miss Smith may not see him, somebody else may, say her aunt, or the +footman. That is because the aunt or the footman has the properly +tuned receiver in her or his brain, and Miss Smith has not.’</p> +<p>‘I see, so far—but the machine?’</p> +<p>‘That is an electric apparatus charged with a message. +The message is not conducted by wires, but is merely carried along on +a new sort of waves, “Hertz waves,” I think, but that does +not matter. They roam through space, these waves, and wherever +they meet another machine of the same kind, a receiver, they communicate +it.’</p> +<p>‘Then everybody who has such a machine as Mr. Macrae’s +gets all Mr. Macrae’s messages for nothing?’ asked Lady +Bude.</p> +<p>‘They would get them,’ said Merton. ‘But +that is where the artfulness comes in. Two Italian magicians, +or electricians, Messrs. Gianesi and Giambresi, have invented an improvement +suggested by a dodge of the Indians on the Amazon River. They +make machines which are only in tune with each other. Their machine +fires off a message which no other machine can receive or tap except +that of their customer, say Mr. Macrae. The other receivers all +over the world don’t get it, they are not in tune. It is +as if Jones could only appear as a wraith to Miss Smith, and <i>vice +versa</i>.’</p> +<p>‘How is it done?’</p> +<p>‘Oh, don’t ask me! Besides, I fancy it is a trade +secret, the tuning. There’s one good thing about it, you +know how Highland landscape is spoiled by telegraph posts?’</p> +<p><!-- page 327--><span class="pagenum">p. 327</span>‘Yes, everywhere +there is always a telegraph post in the foreground.’</p> +<p>‘Well, Mr. Macrae had them when he was here first, but he has +had them all cut down, bless him, since he got the new dodge. +He was explaining it all to Blake and me, and Blake only scoffed, would +not understand, showed he was bored.’</p> +<p>‘I think it delightful! What did Mr. Blake say?’</p> +<p>‘Oh, his usual stuff. Science is an expensive and inadequate +substitute for poetry and the poetic gifts of the natural man, who is +still extant in Ireland. <i>He</i> can flash his thoughts, and +any trifles of news he may pick up, across oceans and continents, with +no machinery at all. What is done in Khartoum is known the same +day in Cairo.’</p> +<p>‘What did Mr. Macrae say?’</p> +<p>‘He asked why the Cairo people did not make fortunes on the +Stock Exchange.’</p> +<p>‘And Mr. Blake?’</p> +<p>‘He looked a great deal, but he said nothing. Then, as +I said, he showed that he was bored when Macrae exhibited to us the +machine and tried to teach us how it worked, and the philosophy of it. +Blake did not understand it, nor do I, really, but of course I displayed +an intelligent interest. He didn’t display any. He +said that the telegraph thing only brought us nearer to all that a child +of nature—’</p> +<p>‘<i>He</i> a child of nature, with his belladonna!’</p> +<p>‘To all that a child of nature wanted to forget. The +machine emitted a serpent of tape, news of Surrey <i>v</i>. Yorkshire, +and something about Kaffirs, and Macrae was enormously pleased, for +such are the <!-- page 328--><span class="pagenum">p. 328</span>simple +joys of the millionaire, really a child of nature. Some of them +keep automatic hydraulic organs and beastly machines that sing. +Now Macrae is not a man of that sort, and he has only one motor up here, +and only uses <i>that</i> for practical purposes to bring luggage and +supplies, but the wireless thing is the apple of his eye. And +Blake sneered.’</p> +<p>‘He is usually very civil indeed, almost grovelling, to the +father,’ said Lady Bude. ‘But I tell you for your +benefit, Mr. Merton, that he has no chance with the daughter. +I know it for certain. He only amuses her. Now here, you +are clever.’</p> +<p>Merton bowed.</p> +<p>‘Clever, or you would not have diverted me from my question +with all that science. You are not ill looking.’</p> +<p>‘Spare my blushes,’ said Merton; adding, ‘Lady +Bude, if you must be answered, <i>you</i> are clever enough to have +found me out.’</p> +<p>‘That needed less acuteness than you suppose,’ said the +lady.</p> +<p>‘I am very sorry to hear it,’ said Merton. ‘You +know how utterly hopeless it is.’</p> +<p>‘There I don’t agree with you,’ said Lady Bude.</p> +<p>Merton blushed. ‘If you are right,’ he said, ‘then +I have no business to be here. What am I in the eyes of a man +like Mr. Macrae? An adventurer, that is what he would think me. +I did think that I had done nothing, said nothing, looked nothing, but +having the chance—well, I could not keep away from her. +It is not honourable. I must go. . . . I love her.’</p> +<p><!-- page 329--><span class="pagenum">p. 329</span>Merton turned +away and gazed at the sunset without seeing it.</p> +<p>Lady Bude put forth her hand and laid it on his. ‘Has +this gone on long?’ she asked.</p> +<p>‘Rather an old story,’ said Merton. ‘I am +a fool. That is the chief reason why I was praying for rain. +She fishes, very keen on it. I would have been on the loch or +the river with her. Blake does not fish, and hates getting wet.’</p> +<p>‘You might have more of her company, if you would not torment +the poet so. The green-eyed monster, jealousy, is on your back.’</p> +<p>Merton groaned. ‘I bar the fellow, anyhow,’ he +said. ‘But, in any case, now that I know <i>you</i> have +found me out, I must be going. If only she were as poor as I am!’</p> +<p>‘You can’t go to-morrow, to-morrow is Sunday,’ +said Lady Bude. ‘Oh, I am sorry for you. Can’t +we think of something? Cannot you find an opening? Do something +great! Get her upset on the loch, and save her from drowning! +Mr. Macrae dotes on her; he would be grateful.’</p> +<p>‘Yes, I might take the pin out of the bottom of the boat,’ +said Merton. ‘It is an idea! But she swims at least +as well as I do. Besides—hardly sportsmanlike.’</p> +<p>Lady Bude tried to comfort him; it is the mission of young matrons. +He must not be in such a hurry to go away. As to Mr. Blake, she +could entirely reassure him. It was a beautiful evening, the lady +was fair and friendly; Nature, fragrant of heather and of the sea, was +hushed in a golden repose. The two <!-- page 330--><span class="pagenum">p. 330</span>talked +long, and the glow of sunset was fading; the eyes of Lady Bude were +a little moist, and Merton was feeling rather consoled when they rose +and walked back towards Skrae Castle. It had been an ancient seat +of the Macraes, a clan in relatively modern times, say 1745, rather +wild, impoverished, and dirty; but Mr. Macrae, the great Canadian millionaire, +had bought the old place, with many thousands of acres ‘where +victual never grew.’</p> +<p>Though a landlord in the Highlands he was beloved, for he was the +friend of crofters, as rent was no object to him, and he did not particularly +care for sport. He accepted the argument, dear to the Celt, that +salmon are ground game, and free to all, while the natives were allowed +to use ancient flint-locked fusils on his black cocks. Mr. Macrae +was a thoroughly generous man, and a tall, clean-shaved, graceful personage. +His public gifts were large. He had just given 500,000<i>l</i>. +to Oxford to endow chairs and students of Psychical Research, while +the rest of the million was bestowed on Cambridge, to supply teaching +in Elementary Logic. His way of life was comfortable, but simple, +except where the comforts of science and modern improvements were concerned. +There were lifts, or elevators, now in the castle of Skrae, though Blake +always went by the old black corkscrew staircases, holding on by the +guiding rope, after the poetical manner of our ancestors.</p> +<p>On a knowe which commanded the castle, in a manner that would have +pained Sir Dugald Dalgetty, Mr. Macrae had erected, not a ‘sconce,’ +but an observatory, with a telescope that ‘licked the Lick <!-- page 331--><span class="pagenum">p. 331</span>thing,’ +as he said. Indeed it was his foible ‘to see the Americans +and go one better,’ and he spoke without tolerance of the late +boss American millionaire, the celebrated J. P. van Huytens, recently +deceased.</p> +<blockquote><p>Duke Humphrey greater wealth computes,<br /> +And sticks, they say, at nothing,</p> +</blockquote> +<p>sings the poet. Mr. Macrae computed greater wealth than Mr. +van Huytens, though avoiding ostentation; he did not</p> +<blockquote><p>Wear a pair of golden boots,<br /> +And silver underclothing.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The late J. P. van Huytens he regarded with moral scorn. This +rival millionaire had made his wealth by the process (apparently peaceful +and horticultural) of ‘watering stocks,’ and by the seemingly +misplaced generosity of overcapitalising enterprises, and ‘grabbing +side shows.’ The nature of these and other financial misdemeanours +Merton did not understand. But he learned from Mr. Macrae that +thereby J. P. van Huytens had scooped in the widow, the orphan, the +clergyman, and the colonel. The two men had met in the most exclusive +circles of American society; with the young van Huytenses the daughter +of the millionaire had even been on friendly terms, but Mr. Macrae retired +to Europe, and put a stop to all that. To do so, indeed, was one +of his motives for returning to the home of his ancestors, the remote +and inaccessible Castle Skrae. <i>The Sportsman’s Guide +to Scotland</i> says, as to Loch Skrae: ‘Railway to Lairg, then +walk or hire forty-five miles.’ <!-- page 332--><span class="pagenum">p. 332</span>The +young van Huytenses were not invited to walk or hire.</p> +<p>Van Huytens had been ostentatious, Mr. Macrae was the reverse. +His costume was of the simplest, his favourite drink (of which he took +little) was what humorists call ‘the light wine of the country,’ +drowned in Apollinaris water. His establishment was refined, but +not gaudy or luxurious, and the chief sign of wealth at Skrae was the +great observatory with the laboratory, and the surmounting ‘pole +with box on top,’ as Merton described the apparatus for the new +kind of telegraphy. In the basement of the observatory was lodged +the hugest balloon known to history, and a skilled expert was busied +with novel experiments in aerial navigation. Happily he could +swim, and his repeated descents into Loch Skrae did not daunt his soaring +genius.</p> +<p>Above the basement of the observatory were rooms for bachelors, a +smoking-room, a billiard-room, and a scientific library. The wireless +telegraphy machine (looking like two boxes, one on the top of the other, +to the eye of ignorance) was installed in the smoking-room, and a wire +to Mr. Macrae’s own rooms informed him, by ringing a bell (it +also rang in the smoking-room), when the machine began to spread itself +out in tape conveying the latest news. The machine communicated +with another in the establishment of its vendors, Messrs. Gianesi, Giambresi +& Co., in Oxford Street. Thus the millionaire, though residing +nearly fifty miles from the nearest station at Lairg, was as well and +promptly informed as if he dwelt in Fleet Street, and he could issue, +without <!-- page 333--><span class="pagenum">p. 333</span>a moment’s +procrastination, his commands to sell and buy, and to do such other +things as pertain to the nature of millionaires. When we add that +a steam yacht of great size and comfort, doing an incredible number +of knots an hour on the turbine system, lay at anchor in the sea loch, +we have indicated the main peculiarities of Mr. Macrae’s rural +establishment. Wealth, though Merton thought so poorly of it, +had supplied these potentialities of enjoyment; but, alas! disease had +‘decimated’ the grouse on the moors (of course to decimate +now means almost to extirpate), and the crofters had increased the pleasures +of stalking by making the stags excessively shy, thus adding to the +arduous enjoyment of the true sportsman.</p> +<p>To Castle Skrae, being such as we have described, Lady Bude and Merton +returned from their sentimental prowl. They found Miss Macrae, +in a very short skirt of the Macrae tartan, trying to teach Mr. Blake +to play ping-pong in the great hall.</p> +<p>We must describe the young lady, though her charms outdo the powers +of the vehicle of prose. She was tall, slim, and graceful, light +of foot as a deer on the corrie. Her hair was black, save when +the sun shone on it and revealed strands of golden brown; it was simply +arrayed, and knotted on the whitest and shapeliest neck in Christendom. +Her eyebrows were dark, her eyes large and lucid,</p> +<blockquote><p>The greyest of things blue,<br /> +The bluest of things grey.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Her complexion was of a clear pallor, like the white rose beloved +by her ancestors; her features were all <!-- page 334--><span class="pagenum">p. 334</span>but +classic, with the charm of romance; but what made her unique was her +mouth. It was faintly upturned at the corners, as in archaic Greek +art; she had, in the slightest and most gracious degree, what Logan, +describing her once, called ‘the Æginetan grin.’ +This gave her an air peculiarly gay and winsome, brilliant, joyous, +and alert. In brief, to use Chaucer’s phrase,</p> +<blockquote><p>She was as wincy as a wanton colt,<br /> +Sweet as a flower, and upright as a bolt.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>She was the girl who was teaching the poet the elements of ping-pong. +The poet usually missed the ball, for he was averse to and unapt for +anything requiring quickness of eye and dexterity of hand. On +a seat lay open a volume of the <i>Poetry of the Celtic Renascence</i>, +which Blake had been reading to Miss Macrae till she used the vulgar +phrase ‘footle,’ and invited him to be educated in ping-pong. +Of these circumstances she cheerfully informed the new-comers, adding +that Lord Bude had returned happy, having photographed a wild cat in +its lair.</p> +<p>‘Did he shoot it?’ asked Blake.</p> +<p>‘No. He’s a sportsman!’ said Miss Macrae.</p> +<p>‘That is why I supposed he must have shot the cat,’ answered +Blake.</p> +<p>‘What is Gaelic for a wild cat, Blake?’ asked Merton +unkindly.</p> +<p>Like other modern Celtic poets Mr. Blake was entirely ignorant of +the melodious language of his ancestors, though it had often been stated +in the literary papers that he was ‘going to begin’ to take +lessons.</p> +<p><!-- page 335--><span class="pagenum">p. 335</span>‘<i>Sans +purr</i>,’ answered Blake; ‘the Celtic wild cat has not +the servile accomplishment of purring. The words, a little altered, +are the motto of the Argyle and Sutherland Highlanders. This is +the country of the wild cat.’</p> +<p>‘I thought the “wild cat” was a peculiarly American +financial animal,’ said Merton.</p> +<p>Miss Macrae laughed, and, the gong sounding (by electricity, the +wire being connected with the Greenwich Observatory), she ran lightly +up the central staircase. Lady Bude had hurried to rejoin her +lord; Merton and Blake sauntered out to their rooms in the observatory, +Blake with an air of fatigue and languor.</p> +<p>‘Learning ping-pong easily?’ asked Merton.</p> +<p>‘I have more hopes of teaching Miss Macrae the essential and +intimate elements of Celtic poetry,’ said Blake. ‘One +box of books I brought with me, another arrived to-day. I am about +to begin on my Celtic drama of “Con of the Hundred Battles.”’</p> +<p>‘Have you the works of the ancient Sennachie, Macfootle?’ +asked Merton. He was jealous, and his usual urbanity was sorely +tried by the Irish bard. In short, he was rude; stupid, too.</p> +<p>However, Blake had his revenge after dinner, on the roof of the observatory, +where the ladies gathered round him in the faint silver light, looking +over the sleeping sea. ‘Far away to the west,’ he +said, ‘lies the Celtic paradise, the Isle of Apples!’</p> +<p>‘American apples are excellent,’ said Merton, but the +beauty of the scene and natural courtesy caused Miss Macrae to whisper +‘Hush!’</p> +<p><!-- page 336--><span class="pagenum">p. 336</span>The poet went +on, ‘May I speak to you the words of the emissary from the lovely +land?’</p> +<p>‘The mysterious female?’ said Merton brutally. +‘Dr. Hyde calls her “a mysterious female.” It +is in his <i>Literary History of Ireland</i>.’</p> +<p>‘Pray let us hear the poem, Mr. Merton,’ said Miss Macrae, +attuned to the charm of the hour and the scene.</p> +<p>‘She came to Bran’s Court,’ said Blake, ‘from +the Isle of Apples, and no man knew whence she came, and she chanted +to them.’</p> +<p>‘Twenty-eight quatrains, no less, a hundred and twelve lines,’ +said the insufferable Merton. ‘Could you give us them in +Gaelic?’</p> +<p>The bard went on, not noticing the interruption, ‘I shall translate</p> +<blockquote><p>‘There is a distant isle<br /> +Around which sea horses glisten,<br /> +A fair course against the white swelling surge,<br /> +Four feet uphold it.’</p> +<p>‘Feet of white bronze under it.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>‘White bronze, what’s that, eh?’ asked the practical +Mr. Macrae.</p> +<blockquote><p>‘Glittering through beautiful ages!<br /> +Lovely land through the world’s age,<br /> +On which the white blossoms drop.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>‘Beautiful!’ said Miss Macrae.</p> +<p>‘There are twenty-six more quatrains,’ said Merton.</p> +<p>The bard went on,</p> +<blockquote><p>‘A beautiful game, most delightful<br /> +They play—’</p> +</blockquote> +<p><!-- page 337--><span class="pagenum">p. 337</span>‘Ping-pong?’ +murmured Merton.</p> +<p>‘Hush!’ said Lady Bude.</p> +<p>Miss Macrae turned to the poet.</p> +<blockquote><p>‘They play, sitting at the luxurious wine,<br /> +Men and gentle women under a bush,<br /> +Without sin, without crime.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>‘They are playing still,’ Blake added. ‘Unbeheld, +undisturbed! I verily believe there is no Gael even now who would +not in his heart of hearts let drift by him the Elysiums of Virgil, +Dante, and Milton, to grasp at the Moy Mell, the Apple Isle, of the +unknown Irish pagan! And then to play sitting at the luxurious +wine,</p> +<blockquote><p>‘Men and gentle women under a bush!’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>‘It really cannot have been ping-pong that they played at, +<i>sitting</i>. Bridge, more likely,’ said Merton. +‘And “good wine needs no bush!”’</p> +<p>The bard moved away, accompanied by his young hostess, who resented +Merton’s cynicism</p> +<p>‘Tell me more of that lovely poem, Mr. Blake,’ she said.</p> +<p>‘I am jangled and out of tune,’ said Blake wildly. +‘The Sassenach is my torture! Let me take your hand, it +is cool as the hands of the foam-footed maidens of—of—what’s +the name of the place?’</p> +<p>‘Was it Clonmell?’ asked Miss Macrae, letting him take +her hand.</p> +<p>He pressed it against his burning brow.</p> +<p>‘Though you laugh at me,’ said Blake, ‘sometimes +you are kind! I am upset—I hardly know myself. <!-- page 338--><span class="pagenum">p. 338</span>What +is yonder shape skirting the lawn? Is it the Daoine Sidh?’</p> +<p>‘Why do you call her “the downy she”? She +is no more artful than other people. She is my maid, Elspeth Mackay,’ +answered Miss Macrae, puzzled. They were alone, separated from +the others by the breadth of the roof.</p> +<p>‘I said the <i>Daoine Sidh</i>,’ replied the poet, spelling +the words. ‘It means the People of Peace.’</p> +<p>‘Quakers?’</p> +<p>‘No, the fairies,’ groaned the misunderstood bard. +‘Do you know nothing of your ancestral tongue? Do you call +yourself a Gael?’</p> +<p>‘Of course I call myself a girl,’ answered Miss Macrae. +‘Do you want me to call myself a young lady?’</p> +<p>The poet sighed. ‘I thought <i>you</i> understood me,’ +he said. ‘Ah, how to escape, how to reach the undiscovered +West!’</p> +<p>‘But Columbus discovered it,’ said Miss Macrae.</p> +<p>‘The undiscovered West of the Celtic heart’s desire,’ +explained the bard; ‘the West below the waters! Thither +could we twain sail in the magic boat of Bran! Ah see, the sky +opens like a flower!’</p> +<p>Indeed, there was a sudden glow of summer lightning.</p> +<p>‘That looks more like rain,’ said Merton, who was standing +with the Budes at an opposite corner of the roof.</p> +<p>‘I say, Merton,’ asked Bude, ‘how can you be so +uncivil to that man? He took it very well.’</p> +<p>‘A rotter,’ said Merton. ‘He has just got +that <!-- page 339--><span class="pagenum">p. 339</span>stuff by heart, +the verse and a lot of the prose, out of a book that I brought down +myself, and left in the smoking-room. I can show you the place +if you like.’</p> +<p>‘Do, Mr. Merton. But how foolish you are! <i>do</i> be +civil to the man,’ whispered Lady Bude, who shared his disbelief +in Blake; and at that moment the tinkle of an electric bell in the smoking-room +below reached the expectant ears of Mr. Macrae.</p> +<p>‘Come down, all of you,’ he said. ‘The wireless +telegraphy is at work.’</p> +<p>He waited till they were all in the smoking-room, and feverishly +examined the tape.</p> +<p>‘Escape of De Wet,’ he read. ‘Disasters to +the Imperial Yeomanry. Strike of Cigarette Makers. Great +Fire at Hackney.’</p> +<p>‘There!’ he exclaimed triumphantly. ‘We might +have gone to bed in London, and not known all that till we got the morning +papers to-morrow. And here we are fifty miles from a railway station +or a telegraph office—no, we’re nearer Inchnadampf.’</p> +<p>‘Would that I were in the Isle of Apples, Mell Moy, far, far +from civilisation!’ said Blake.</p> +<p>“There shall be no grief there or sorrow,” so sings the +minstrel of <i>The Wooing of Etain</i>.</p> +<p>“Fresh flesh of swine, banquets of new milk and ale shalt thou +have with me then, fair lady,” Merton read out from the book he +had been speaking of to the Budes.</p> +<p>‘Jolly place, the Celtic Paradise! Fresh flesh of swine, +banquets of ale and new milk. <i>Quel luxe</i>!’</p> +<p>‘Is that the kind of entertainment you were offering me, Mr. +Blake?’ asked Miss Macrae gaily. ‘Mr. <!-- page 340--><span class="pagenum">p. 340</span>Blake,’ +she went on, ‘has been inviting me to fly to the undiscovered +West beneath the waters, in the magic boat of Bran.’</p> +<p>‘Did Bran invent the submarine?’ asked Mr. Macrae, and +then the company saw what they had never seen before, the bard blushing. +He seemed so discomposed that Miss Macrae took compassion on him.</p> +<p>‘Never mind my father, Mr. Blake,’ she said, ‘he +is a very good Highlander, and believes in Eachain of the Hairy Arm +as much as the crofters do. Have you heard of Eachain, Mr. Blake? +He is a spectre in full Highland costume, attached to our clan. +When we came here first, to look round, we had only horses hired from +Edinburgh, and a Lowlander—mark you, a <i>Lowlander</i>—to +drive. He was in the stable one afternoon—the old stable, +we have pulled it down—when suddenly the horses began to kick +and rear. He looked round to the open door, and there stood a +huge Highlander in our tartans, with musket, pistols, claymore, dirk, +skian, and all, and soft brogues of untanned leather on his feet. +The coachman, in a panic, made a blind rush at the figure, but behold, +there was nobody, and a boy outside had seen no man. The horses +were trembling and foaming. Now it was a Lowlander from Teviotdale +that saw the man, and the crofters were delighted. They said the +figure was the chief that fell at Culloden, come to welcome us back. +So you must not despair of us, Mr. Blake, and you, that have “the +sight,” may see Eachain yourself, who knows?’</p> +<p>This happy turn of the conversation exactly suited <!-- page 341--><span class="pagenum">p. 341</span>Blake. +He began to be very amusing about magic, and brownies, and ‘the +downy she,’ as Miss Macrae called the People of Peace. The +ladies presently declared that they were afraid to go to bed; so they +went, Miss Macrae indicating her displeasure to Merton by the coldness +of her demeanour.</p> +<p>The men, who were rather dashed by the pleasant intelligence which +the telegraph had communicated, sat up smoking for a while, and then +retired in a subdued state of mind.</p> +<p>Next morning, which was Sunday, Merton appeared rather late at breakfast, +late and pallid. After a snatch of disturbed slumber, he had wakened, +or seemed to waken, fretting a good deal over the rusticity of his bearing +towards Blake, and over his hopeless affair of the heart. He had +vexed his lady. ‘If he is good enough for his hosts, he +ought to be good enough for their guests,’ thought Merton. +‘What a brute, what a fool I am; I ought to go. I will go! +I ought not to take coffee after dinner, I know I ought not, and I smoke +too much,’ he added, and finally he went to breathe the air on +the roof.</p> +<p>The night was deadly soft and still, a slight mist hid the furthest +verges of the sea’s horizon. Behind it, the summer lightning +seemed like portals that opened and shut in the heavens, revealing a +glory without form, and closing again.</p> +<p>‘I don’t wonder that these Irish poets dreamed of Isles +of Paradise out there:</p> +<blockquote><p>‘Lands undiscoverable in the unheard-of West,<br /> +Round which the strong stream of a sacred sea<br /> +Runs without wind for ever.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p><!-- page 342--><span class="pagenum">p. 342</span>thought Merton. +‘Chicago is the realisation of their dream. Hullo, there +are the lights of a big steamer, and a very low one behind it! +Queer craft!’</p> +<p>Merton watched the lights that crossed the sea, when either the haze +deepened or the fainter light on the smaller vessel vanished, and the +larger ship steamed on in a southerly direction. ‘Magic +boat of Bran!’ thought Merton. He turned and entered the +staircase to go back to his room. There was a lift, of course, +but, equally of course, there was nobody to manage it. Merton, +who had a lighted bedroom-candle in his hand, descended the spiral staircase; +at a turning he thought he saw, ‘with the tail of his eye,’ +a plaid, draping a tall figure of a Highlander, disappear round the +corner. Nobody in the castle wore the kilt except the piper, and +he had not rooms in the observatory. Merton ran down as fast as +he could, but he did not catch another view of the plaid and its wearer, +or hear any footsteps. He went to the bottom of the staircase, +opened the outer door, and looked forth. Nobody! The electric +light from the open door of his own room blazed across the landing on +his return. All was perfectly still, and Merton remembered that +he had not heard the footsteps of the appearance. ‘Was it +Eachain?’ he asked himself. ‘Do I sleep, do I dream?’</p> +<p>He went back to bed and slumbered uneasily. He seemed to be +awake in his room, in broad light, and to hear a slow drip, drip, on +the floor. He looked up; the roof was stained with a great dark +splash of a crimson hue. He got out of bed, and touched the wet +spot on the floor under the blotch on the ceiling.</p> +<p><!-- page 343--><span class="pagenum">p. 343</span>His fingers were +reddened with blood! He woke at the horror of it: found himself +in bed in the dark, pressed an electric knob, and looked at the ceiling. +It was dry and white. ‘I certainly have been smoking too +much lately,’ thought Merton, and, switching off the light, he +slumbered again, so soundly that he did not hear the piper playing round +the house, or the man who brought his clothes and hot water, or the +gong for breakfast.</p> +<p>When he did wake, he was surprised at the lateness of the hour, and +dressed as rapidly as possible. ‘I wonder if I was dreaming +when I thought that I went out on the roof, and saw mountains and marvels,’ +said Merton to himself. ‘A queer thing, the human mind,’ +he reflected sagely. It occurred to him to enter the smoking-room +on his way downstairs. He routed two maids who perhaps had slept +too late, and were hurriedly making the room tidy. The sun was +beating in at the window, and Merton noticed some tiny glittering points +of white metallic light on the carpet near the new telegraphic apparatus. +‘I don’t believe these lazy Highland Maries have swept the +room properly since the electric machine was put up,’ Merton thought. +He hastily seized, and took to his chamber, his book on old Irish literature, +which was too clearly part of Blake’s Celtic inspiration. +Merton wanted no more quatrains, but he did mean to try to be civil. +He then joined the party at breakfast; he admitted that he had slept +ill, but, when asked by Blake, disclaimed having seen Eachain of the +Hairy Arm, and did not bore or bewilder the company with his dreams.</p> +<p><!-- page 344--><span class="pagenum">p. 344</span>Miss Macrae, in +sabbatical raiment, was fresher than a rose and gay as a lark. +Merton tried not to look at her; he failed in this endeavour.</p> +<h3>II. Lost</h3> +<p>The day was Sunday, and Merton, who had a holy horror of news, rejoiced +to think that the telegraphic machine would probably not tinkle its +bell for twenty-four hours. This was not the ideal of the millionaire. +Things happen, intelligence arrives from the limits of our vast and +desirable empire, even on the Day of Rest. But the electric bell +was silent. Mr. Macrae, from patriotic motives, employed a Highland +engineer and mechanician, so there was nothing to be got out of him +in the way of work on the sabbath day. The millionaire himself +did not quite understand how to work the thing. He went to the +smoking-room where it dwelt and looked wistfully at it, but was afraid +to try to call up his correspondents in London. As for the usual +manipulator, Donald McDonald, he had started early for the distant Free +Kirk. An ‘Unionist’ minister intended to try to preach +himself in, and the majority of the congregation, being of the old Free +Kirk rock, and averse to union with the United Presbyterians, intended +to try to keep him out. They ‘had a lad with the gift who +would do the preaching fine,’ and as there was no police-station +within forty miles it seemed fairly long odds on the Free Kirk recalcitrants. +However, there was a resolute minority of crofters on the side of the +minister, and every chance of an ecclesiastical battle royal. +<!-- page 345--><span class="pagenum">p. 345</span>Accompanied by the +stalker, two keepers, and all the gardeners, armed with staves, the +engineer had early set out for the scene of brotherly amity, and Mr. +Macrae had reluctantly to admit that he was cut off from his communications.</p> +<p>Merton, who was with him in the smoking-room, mentally absolved the +Highland housemaids. If they had not swept up the tiny glittering +metallic points on the carpet before, they had done so now. Only +two or three caught his eye.</p> +<p>Mr. Macrae, avid of news, accommodated himself in an arm-chair with +newspapers of two or three days old, from which he had already sucked +the heart by aid of his infernal machine. The Budes and Blake, +with Miss Macrae (an Anglican), had set off to walk to the Catholic +chapel, some four miles away, for crofting opinion was resolute against +driving on the Lord’s Day. Merton, self-denying and resolved, +did not accompany his lady; he read a novel, wrote letters, and felt +desolate. All was peace, all breathed of the Sabbath calm.</p> +<p>‘Very odd there’s no call from the machine,’ said +Mr. Macrae anxiously.</p> +<p>‘It is Sunday,’ said Merton.</p> +<p>‘Still, they might send us something.’</p> +<p>‘They scarcely favoured us last Sunday,’ said Merton.</p> +<p>‘No, and now I think of it, not at all on the Sunday before,’ +said Mr. Macrae. ‘I dare say it is all right.’</p> +<p>‘Would a thunder-storm further south derange it?’ asked +Merton, adding, ‘There was a lot of summer lightning last night.’</p> +<p><!-- page 346--><span class="pagenum">p. 346</span>‘That might +be it; these things have their tempers. But they are a great comfort. +I can’t think how we ever did without them,’ said Mr. Macrae, +as if these things were common in every cottage. ‘Wonderful +thing, science!’ he added, in an original way, and Merton, who +privately detested science, admitted that it was so.</p> +<p>‘Shall we go to see the horses?’ suggested Mr. Macrae, +and they did go and stare, as is usual on Sunday in the country, at +the hind-quarters of these noble animals. Merton strove to be +as much interested as possible in Mr. Macrae’s stories of his +fleet American trotters. But his heart was otherwhere. ‘They +will soon be an extinct species,’ said Mr. Macrae. ‘The +motor has come to stay.’</p> +<p>Merton was not feeling very well, he was afraid of a cigarette, Mr. +Macrae’s conversation was not brilliant, and Merton still felt +as if he were under the wrath, so well deserved, of his hostess. +She did not usually go to the Catholic chapel; to be sure, in the conditions +prevailing at the Free Kirk place of worship, she had no alternative +if she would not abstain wholly from religious privileges. But +Merton felt sure that she had really gone to comfort and console the +injured feelings of Blake. Probably she would have had a little +court of lordlings, Merton reflected (not that Mr. Macrae had any taste +for them), but everybody knew that, what with the weather, and the crofters, +and the grouse disease, the sport at Castle Skrae was remarkably bad. +So the party was tiny, though a number of people were expected later, +and Merton and the heiress had been on what, as he ruefully <!-- page 347--><span class="pagenum">p. 347</span>reflected, +were very kind terms—rather more than kind, he had hoped, or feared, +now and then. Merton saw that he had annoyed her, and thrown her, +metaphorically speaking, into the arms of the Irish minstrel. +All the better, perhaps, he thought, ruefully. The poet was handsome +enough to be one that ‘limners loved to paint, and ladies to look +upon.’ He generally took chaff well, and could give it, +as well as take it, and there were hours when his sentiment and witchery +had a chance with most women. ‘But Lady Bude says there +is nothing in it, and women usually know,’ he reflected. +Well, he must leave the girl, and save his self-respect.</p> +<p>When nothing more in the way of pottering could be done at the stables, +when its proprietor had exhausted the pleasure of staring at the balloon +in its hall, and had fed the fowls, he walked with Merton down the avenue, +above the shrunken burn that whispered among its ferns and alders, to +meet the returning church-goers. The Budes came first, together; +they were still, they were always, honeymooning. Mr. Macrae turned +back with Lady Bude; Merton walked with Bude, Blake and Miss Macrae +were not yet in sight. He thought of walking on to meet them—but +no, it must not be.</p> +<p>‘Blake owes you a rare candle, Merton,’ said Bude, adding, +‘A great deal may be done, or said, in a long walk by a young +man with his advantages. And if you had not had your knife in +him last night I do not think she would have accompanied us this morning +to attend the ministrations of Father McColl. He preached in Gaelic.’</p> +<p><!-- page 348--><span class="pagenum">p. 348</span>‘That must +have been edifying,’ said Merton, wincing.</p> +<p>‘The effect, when one does not know the language, and is within +six feet of an energetic Celt in the pulpit, is rather odd,’ said +Bude. ‘But you have put your foot in it, not a doubt of +that.’</p> +<p>This appeared only too probable. The laggards arrived late +for luncheon, and after luncheon Miss Macrae allowed Blake to read his +manuscript poems to her in the hall, and to discuss the prospects of +the Celtic drama. Afterwards, fearing to hurt the religious sentiments +of the Highland servants by playing ping-pong on Sunday in the hall, +she instructed him elsewhere, and clandestinely, in that pastime till +the hour of tea arrived.</p> +<p>Merton did not appear at the tea-table. Tired of this Castle +of Indolence, loathing Blake, afraid of more talk with Lady Bude, eating +his own heart, he had started alone after luncheon for a long walk round +the loch. The day had darkened, and was deadly still; the water +was like a mirror of leaden hue; the air heavy and sulphurous.</p> +<p>These atmospheric phenomena did not gladden the heart of Merton. +He knew that rain was coming, but he would not be with <i>her</i> by +the foaming stream, or on the black waves of the loch. Climbing +to the top of the hill, he felt sure that a storm was at hand. +On the east, far away, Clibrig, and Suilvean of the double peak, and +the round top of Ben More, stood shadowy above the plain against the +lurid light. Over the sea hung ‘the ragged rims of thunder’ +far away, veiling in thin shadow the outermost isles, whose mountain +crests <!-- page 349--><span class="pagenum">p. 349</span>looked dark +as indigo. A few hot heavy drops of rain were falling as Merton +began to descend. He was soaked to the skin when he reached the +door of the observatory, and rushed up stairs to dress for dinner. +A covered way led from the observatory to the Castle, so that he did +not get drenched again on his return, which he accomplished punctually +as the gong for dinner sounded.</p> +<p>In the drawing-room were the Budes, and Mr. Macrae was nervously +pacing the length and breadth of the room.</p> +<p>‘They must have taken refuge from the rain somewhere,’ +Lady Bude was saying, and ‘they’ were obviously Blake and +the daughter of the house. Where were they? Merton’s +heart sank with a foolish foreboding.</p> +<p>‘I know,’ the lady went on, ‘that they were only +going down to the cove—where you and I were yesterday evening, +Mr. Merton. It is no distance.’</p> +<p>‘A mile and a half is a good deal in this weather, said Merton, +‘and there is no cottage on this side of the sea loch. But +they must have taken shelter,’ he added; he must not seem anxious.</p> +<p>At this moment came a flash of lightning, followed by a crack like +that of a cosmic whip-lash, and a long reverberating roar of thunder.</p> +<p>‘It is most foolish to have stayed out so late,’ said +Mr. Macrae. ‘Any one could see that a storm was coming. +I told them so, I am really annoyed.’</p> +<p>Every one was silent, the rain fell straight and steady, the gravel +in front of the window was a series of little lakes, pale and chill +in the wan twilight.</p> +<p><!-- page 350--><span class="pagenum">p. 350</span>‘I really +think I must send a couple of men down with cloaks and umbrellas,’ +said the nervous father, pressing an electric knob.</p> +<p>The butler appeared.</p> +<p>‘Are Donald and Sandy and Murdoch about?’ asked Mr. Macrae.</p> +<p>‘Not returned from church, sir;’ said the butler.</p> +<p>‘There was likely to be a row at the Free Kirk,’ said +Mr. Macrae, absently.</p> +<p>‘You must go yourself, Benson, with Archibald and James. +Take cloaks and umbrellas, and hurry down towards the cove. Mr. +Blake and Miss Macrae have probably found shelter on the way somewhere.’</p> +<p>The butler answered, ‘Yes, sir;’ but he cannot have been +very well pleased with his errand. Merton wanted to offer to go, +anything to be occupied; but Bude said nothing, and so Merton did not +speak.</p> +<p>The four in the drawing-room sat chatting nervously: ‘There +was nothing of course to be anxious about,’ they told each other. +The bolt of heaven never strikes the daughters of millionaires; Miss +Macrae was indifferent to a wetting, and nobody cared tremulously about +Blake. Indeed the words ‘confound the fellow’ were +in the minds of the three men.</p> +<p>The evening darkened rapidly, the minutes lagged by, the clock chimed +the half-hour, three-quarters, nine o’clock.</p> +<p>Mr. Macrae was manifestly growing more and more nervous, Merton forgot +to grow more and more hungry. His tongue felt dry and hard; he +was afraid of he knew not what, but he bravely tried to make talk with +Lady Bude.</p> +<p><!-- page 351--><span class="pagenum">p. 351</span>The door opened, +letting the blaze of electric light from the hall into the darkling +room. They all turned eagerly towards the door. It was only +one of the servants. Merton’s heart felt like lead. +‘Mr. Benson has returned, sir; he would be glad if he might speak +to you for a moment.’</p> +<p>‘Where is he?’ asked Mr. Macrae.</p> +<p>‘At the outer door, sir, in the porch. He is very wet.’</p> +<p>Mr. Macrae went out; the others found little to say to each other.</p> +<p>‘Very awkward,’ muttered Bude. ‘They cannot +have been climbing the cliffs, surely.’</p> +<p>‘The bridge is far above the highest water-mark of the burn, +in case they crossed the water,’ said Merton.</p> +<p>Lady Bude was silent.</p> +<p>Mr. Macrae returned. ‘Benson has come back,’ he +said, ‘to say that he can find no trace of them. The other +men are still searching.’</p> +<p>‘Can they have had themselves ferried across the sea loch to +the village opposite?’ asked Merton.</p> +<p>‘Emmiline had not the key of our boat,’ said Mr. Macrae, +‘I have made sure of that; and not a man in the village would +launch a boat on Sunday.’</p> +<p>‘We must go and help to search for them,’ said Merton; +he only wished to be doing something, anything.</p> +<p>‘I shall not be a minute in changing my dress.’</p> +<p>Bude also volunteered, and in a few minutes, having drunk a glass +of wine and eaten a crust of bread, they and Mr. Macrae were hurrying +towards the cove. The storm was passing; by the time when they +reached <!-- page 352--><span class="pagenum">p. 352</span>the sea-side +there were rifts of clear light in the sky above them. They had +walked rapidly and silently, the swollen stream roaring beneath them. +It had rained torrents in the hills. There was nothing to be said, +but the mind of each man was busy with the gloomiest conjectures. +These had to be far-fetched, for in a country so thinly peopled, and +so honest and friendly, within a couple of miles at most from home, +on a Sunday evening, what conceivable harm could befall a man and a +maid?</p> +<p>‘Can we trust the man?’ was in Merton’s mind. +‘If they have been ferried across to the village, they would have +set out to return before now,’ he said aloud; but there was no +boat on the faint silver of the sea loch. ‘The cliffs are +the likeliest place for an accident, if there <i>was</i> an accident,’ +he considered, with a pang. The cliffs might have tempted the +light-footed girl. In fancy he saw her huddled, a ghastly heap, +the faint wind fluttering the folds of her dress, at the bottom of the +rocks. She had been wearing a long skirt, not her wont in the +Highlands; it would be dangerous to climb in that; she might have forgotten, +climbed, and caught her foot, and fallen.</p> +<p>‘Blake may have snatched at her, and been dragged down with +her,’ Merton thought. All the horrid fancies of keen anxiety +flitted across his mind’s eye. He paused, and made an effort +over himself. There <i>must</i> be some other harmless explanation, +an adventure to laugh at—for Blake and the girl. Poor comfort, +that!</p> +<p>The men who had been searching were scattered about the sides of +the cove, and, distinguishing the new-comers, gathered towards them.</p> +<p><!-- page 353--><span class="pagenum">p. 353</span>‘No,’ +they said, ‘they had found nothing except a little book that seemed +to belong to Mr. Blake.’</p> +<p>It had been discovered near the place where Merton and Lady Bude +were sitting on the previous evening. When found it was lying +open, face downwards. In the faint light Merton could see that +the book was full of manuscript poems, the lines all blotted and run +together by the tropical rain. He thrust it into the pocket of +his ulster.</p> +<p>Merton took the most intelligent of the gillies aside. ‘Show +me where you have searched,’ he said. The man pointed to +the shores of the cove; they had also examined the banks of the burn, +and under all the trees, clearly fearing that the lost pair might have +been lightning-struck, like the nymph and swain in Pope’s poem. +‘You have not searched the cliffs?’ asked Merton.</p> +<p>‘No, sir,’ said the man.</p> +<p>Merton then went to Mr. Macrae, and suggested that the boat should +be sent across the sea ferry, to try if anything could be learned in +the village. Mr. Macrae agreed, and himself went in the boat, +which was presently unmoored, and pulled by two gillies across the loch, +that ran like a river with the outgoing tide.</p> +<p>Merton and Bude began to search the cliffs; Merton could hear the +hoarse pumping of his own heart. The cliff’s base was deep +in flags and bracken, then the rocks began climbing to the foot of the +perpendicular basaltic crag. The sky, fortunately, was now clear +in the west, and lent a wan light to the seekers. Merton had almost +reached the base of the <!-- page 354--><span class="pagenum">p. 354</span>cliff, +when, in the deep bracken, he stumbled over something soft. He +stooped and held back the tall fronds of bracken.</p> +<p>It was the body of a man; the body did not stir. Merton glanced +to see the face, but the face was bent round, leaning half on the earth. +It was Blake. Merton’s guess seemed true. They had +fallen from the cliffs! But where was that other body? Merton +yelled to Bude. Blake seemed dead or insensible.</p> +<p>Merton (he was ashamed of it presently) left the body of Blake alone; +he plunged wildly in and out of the bracken, still shouting to Bude, +and looking for that which he feared to find. She could not be +far off. He stumbled over rocks, into rabbit holes, he dived among +the soaked bracken. Below and around he hunted, feverishly panting, +then he set his face to the sheer cliff, to climb; she might be lying +on some higher ledge, the shadow on the rocks was dark. At this +moment Bude hailed him.</p> +<p>‘Come down!’ he cried, ‘she cannot be there!’</p> +<p>‘Why not?’ he gasped, arriving at the side of Bude, who +was stooping, with a lantern in his hand, over the body of Blake, which +faintly stirred.</p> +<p>‘Look!’ said Bude, lowering the lantern.</p> +<p>Then Merton saw that Blake’s hands were bound down beside his +body, and that the cords were fastened by pegs to the ground. +His feet were fastened in the same way, and his mouth was stuffed full +of wet seaweed. Bude pulled out the improvised gag, cut the ropes, +turned the face upwards, and carefully dropped a little whisky from +his flask into the mouth. Blake opened his eyes.</p> +<p><!-- page 355--><span class="pagenum">p. 355</span>‘Where are +my poems?’ he asked.</p> +<p>‘Where is Miss Macrae?’ shrieked Merton in agony.</p> +<p>‘Damn the midges,’ said Blake (his face was hardly recognisable +from their bites). ‘Oh, damn them all!’ He had +fainted again.</p> +<p>‘She has been carried off,’ groaned Merton. Bude +and he did all that they knew for poor Blake. They rubbed his +ankles and wrists, they administered more whisky, and finally got him +to sit up. He scratched his hands over his face and moaned, but +at last he recovered full consciousness. No sense could be extracted +from him, and, as the boat was now visible on its homeward track, Bude +and Merton carried him down to the cove, anxiously waiting Mr. Macrae.</p> +<p>He leaped ashore.</p> +<p>‘Have you heard anything?’ asked Bude.</p> +<p>‘They saw a boat on the loch about seven o’clock,’ +said Mr. Macrae, ‘coming from the head of it, touching here, and +then pulling west, round the cliff. They thought the crew Sabbath-breakers +from the lodge at Alt Garbh. What’s that,’ he cried, +at last seeing Blake, who lay supported against a rock, his eyes shut.</p> +<p>Merton rapidly explained.</p> +<p>‘It is as I thought,’ said Mr. Macrae resolutely. +‘I knew it from the first. They have kidnapped her for a +ransom. Let us go home.’</p> +<p>Merton and Bude were silent; they, too, had guessed, as soon as they +discovered Blake. The girl was her father’s very life, and +they admired his resolution, his silence. A gate was taken from +its hinges, <!-- page 356--><span class="pagenum">p. 356</span>cloaks +were strewn on it, and Blake was laid on this ambulance.</p> +<p>Merton ventured to speak.</p> +<p>‘May I take your boat, sir, across to the ferry, and send the +fishermen from the village to search each end of the loch on their side? +It is after midnight,’ he added grimly. ‘They will +not refuse to go; it is Monday.’</p> +<p>‘I will accompany them,’ said Bude, ‘with your +leave, Mr. Macrae, Merton can search our side of the loch, he can borrow +another boat at the village in addition to yours. You, at the +Castle, can organise the measures for to-morrow.’</p> +<p>‘Thank you both,’ said Mr. Macrae. ‘I should +have thought of that. Thank you, Mr. Merton, for the idea. +I am a little dazed. There is the key of the boat.’</p> +<p>Merton snatched it, and ran, followed by Bude and four gillies, to +the little pier where the boat was moored. He must be doing something +for her, or go mad. The six men crowded into the boat, and pulled +swiftly away, Merton taking the stroke oar. Meanwhile Blake was +carried by four gillies towards the Castle, the men talking low to each +other in Gaelic. Mr. Macrae walked silently in front.</p> +<p>Such was the mournful procession that Lady Bude ran out to meet. +She passed Mr. Macrae, whose face was set with an expression of deadly +rage, and looked for Bude. He was not there, a gillie told her +what they knew, and, with a convulsive sob, she followed Mr. Macrae +into the Castle.</p> +<p>‘Mr. Blake must be taken to his room,’ said Mr. <!-- page 357--><span class="pagenum">p. 357</span>Macrae. +‘Benson, bring something to eat and drink. Lady Bude, I +deeply regret that this thing should have troubled your stay with me. +She has been carried off, Mr. Blake has been rendered unconscious; your +husband and Mr. Merton are trying nobly to find the track of the miscreants. +You will excuse me, I must see to Mr. Blake.’</p> +<p>Mr. Macrae rose, bowed, and went out. He saw Blake carried +to a bathroom in the observatory; they undressed him and put him in +the hot water. Then they put him to bed, and brought him wine +and food. He drank the wine eagerly.</p> +<p>‘We were set on suddenly from behind by fellows from a boat,’ +he said. ‘We saw them land and go up from the cove; they +took us in the rear: they felled me and pegged me out. Have you +my poems?’</p> +<p>‘Mr. Merton has the poems,’ said Mr. Macrae. ‘What +became of my daughter?’</p> +<p>‘I don’t know, I was unconscious.’</p> +<p>‘What kind of boat was it?’</p> +<p>‘An ordinary coble, a country boat.’</p> +<p>‘What kind of looking men were they?’</p> +<p>‘Rough fellows with beards. I only saw them when they +first passed us at some distance. Oh, my head! Oh damn, +how these bites do sting! Get me some ammonia; you’ll find +it in a bottle on the dressing-table.’</p> +<p>Mr. Macrae brought him the bottle and a handkerchief. ‘That +is all you know?’ he asked.</p> +<p>But Blake was babbling some confusion of verse and prose: his wits +were wandering.</p> +<p>Mr. Macrae turned from him, and bade one of the <!-- page 358--><span class="pagenum">p. 358</span>men +watch him. He himself passed downstairs and into the hall, where +Lady Bude was standing at the window, gazing to the north.</p> +<p>‘Indeed you must not watch, Lady Bude,’ said the millionaire. +‘Let me persuade you to take something and go to bed. I +forget myself; I do not believe that you have dined.’ He +himself sat down at the table, he ate and drank, and induced Lady Bude +to join him. ‘Now, do let me persuade you to go back and +to try to sleep,’ said Mr. Macrae gently. ‘Your husband +is well accompanied.’</p> +<p>‘It is not for him that I am afraid,’ said the lady, +who was in tears.</p> +<p>‘I must arrange for the day’s work,’ said the millionaire, +and Lady Bude sighed and left him.</p> +<p>‘First,’ he said aloud, ‘we must get the doctor +from Lairg to see Blake. Over forty miles.’ He rang. +‘Benson,’ he said to the butler, ‘order the tandem +for seven. The yacht to have steam up at the same hour. +Breakfast at half-past six.’</p> +<p>The millionaire then went to his own study, where he sat lost in +thought. Morning had come before the sound of voices below informed +him that Bude and Merton had returned. He hurried down; their +faces told him all. ‘Nothing?’ he asked calmly.</p> +<p>Nothing! They had rowed along the loch sides, touching at every +cottage and landing-place. They had learned nothing. He +explained his ideas for the day.</p> +<p>‘If you will allow me to go in the yacht, I can telegraph from +Lochinver in all directions to the police,’ said Bude.</p> +<p><!-- page 359--><span class="pagenum">p. 359</span>‘We can +use the wireless thing,’ said Mr. Macrae. ‘But if +you would be so good, you could at least see the local police, and if +anything occurred to you, telegraph in the ordinary way.’</p> +<p>‘Right,’ said Bude, ‘I shall now take a bath.’</p> +<p>‘You will stay with me, Mr. Merton,’ said Mr. Macrae.</p> +<p>‘It is a dreadful country for men in our position,’ said +Merton, for the sake of saying something. ‘Police and everything +so remote.’</p> +<p>‘It gave them their chance; they have waited for it long enough, +I dare say. Have you any ideas?’</p> +<p>‘They must have a steamer somewhere.’</p> +<p>‘That is why I have ordered the balloon, to reconnoitre the +sea from,’ said Mr. Macrae. ‘But they have had all +the night to escape in. I think they will take her to America, +to some rascally southern republic, probably.’</p> +<p>‘I have thought of the outer islands,’ said Merton, ‘out +behind the Lewis and the Long Island.’</p> +<p>‘We shall have them searched,’ said Mr. Macrae. +‘I can think of no more at present, and you are tired.’</p> +<p>Merton had slept ill and strangely on the night of Saturday; on Sunday +night, of course, he had never lain down. Unshaven, dirty, with +haggard eyes, he looked as wretched as he felt.</p> +<p>‘I shall have a bath, and then please employ me, it does not +matter on what, as long as I am at work for—you,’ said Merton. +He had nearly said ‘for her.’</p> +<p>Mr. Macrae looked at him rather curiously. ‘You <!-- page 360--><span class="pagenum">p. 360</span>are +dying of fatigue,’ he said. ‘All your ideas have been +excellent, but I cannot let you kill yourself. Ideas are what +I want. You must stay with me to-day: I shall be communicating +with London and other centres by the Giambresi machine; I shall need +your advice, your suggestions. Now, do go to bed: you shall be +called if you are needed.’</p> +<p>He wrung Merton’s hand, and Merton crept up to his bedroom. +He took a bath, turned in, and was wrapped in all the blessedness of +sleep.</p> +<p>Before five o’clock the house was astir. Bude, in the +yacht, steamed down the coast, touching at Lochinver, and wherever there +seemed a faint hope of finding intelligence. But he learned nothing. +Yachts and other vessels came and went (on Sundays, of course, more +seldom), and if the heiress had been taken straight to sea, northwards +or west, round the Butt of Lewis, by night, there could be no chance +of news of her. Returning, Bude learned that the local search +parties had found nothing but the black ashes of a burned boat in a +creek on the south side of the cliffs. There the captors of Miss +Macrae must have touched, burned their coble, and taken to some larger +and fleeter vessel. But no such vessel had been seen by shepherd, +fisher, keeper, or gillie. The grooms arrived from Lairg, in the +tandem, with the doctor and a rural policeman. Bude had telegraphed +to Scotland Yard from Lochinver for detectives, and to Glasgow, Oban, +Tobermory, Salen, in fact to every place he thought likely, with minute +particulars of Miss Macrae’s appearance and dress. All this +Merton learned from Bude, when, long after luncheon <!-- page 361--><span class="pagenum">p. 361</span>time, +our hero awoke suddenly, refreshed in body, but with the ghastly blank +of misery and doubt before the eyes of his mind.</p> +<p>‘I wired,’ said Bude, ‘on the off chance that yesterday’s +storm might have deranged the wireless machine, and, by Jove, it is +lucky I did. The wireless machine won’t work, not a word +of message has come through; it is jammed or something. I met +Donald Macdonald, who told me.’</p> +<p>‘Have you seen our host yet?’</p> +<p>‘No,’ said Bude, ‘I was just going to him.’</p> +<p>They found the millionaire seated at a table, his head in his hands. +On their approach he roused himself.</p> +<p>‘Any news?’ he asked Bude, who shook his head. +He explained how he had himself sent various telegrams, and Mr. Macrae +thanked him.</p> +<p>‘You did well,’ he said. ‘Some electric disturbance +has cut us off from our London correspondent. We sent messages +in the usual way, but there has been no reply. You sent to Scotland +Yard for detectives, I think you said?’</p> +<p>‘I did.’</p> +<p>‘But, unluckily, what can London detectives do in a country +like this?’ said Mr. Macrae.</p> +<p>‘I told them to send one who had the Gaelic,’ said Bude.</p> +<p>‘It was well thought of,’ said Mr. Macrae, ‘but +this was no local job. Every man for miles round has been examined, +and accounted for.’</p> +<p>‘I hope you have slept well, Mr. Merton?’ he asked.</p> +<p><!-- page 362--><span class="pagenum">p. 362</span>‘Excellently. +Can you not put me on some work if it is only to copy telegraphic despatches? +But, by the way, how is Blake?’</p> +<p>‘The doctor is still with him,’ said Mr. Macrae; ‘a +case of concussion of the brain, he says it is. But you go out +and take the air, you must be careful of yourself.’</p> +<p>Bude remained with the millionaire, Merton sauntered out to look +at the river: running water drew him like a magnet. By the side +of the stream, on a woodland path, he met Lady Bude. She took +his hand silently in her right, and patted it with her left. Merton +turned his head away.</p> +<p>‘What can I say to you?’ she asked. ‘Oh, +this is too horrible, too cruel.’</p> +<p>‘If I had listened to you and not irritated her I might have +been with her, not Blake,’ said Merton, with keen self-respect.</p> +<p>‘I don’t quite see that you would be any the better for +concussion of the brain,’ said Lady Bude, smiling. ‘Oh, +Mr. Merton, you <i>must</i> find her, I know how you have worked already. +You must rescue her. Consider, this is your chance, this is your +opportunity to do something great. Take courage!’</p> +<p>Merton answered, with a rather watery smile, ‘If I had Logan +with me.’</p> +<p>‘With or without Lord Fastcastle, you <i>must do it</i>!’ +said Lady Bude.</p> +<p>They saw Mr. Macrae approaching them deep in thought and advanced +to meet him.</p> +<p>‘Mr. Macrae,’ asked Lady Bude suddenly, ‘have you +had Donald with you long?’</p> +<p><!-- page 363--><span class="pagenum">p. 363</span>‘Ever since +he was a lad in Canada,’ answered the millionaire. ‘I +have every confidence in Donald’s ability, and he was for half +a year with Gianesi and Giambresi, learning to work their system.’</p> +<p>Donald’s honesty, it was clear, he never dreamed of suspecting. +Merton blushed, as he remembered that a doubt as to whether the engineer +had been ‘got at’ had occurred to his own mind. For +a heavy bribe (Merton had fancied) Donald might have been induced, perhaps +by some Stock Exchange operator, to tamper with the wireless centre +of communication. But, from Mr. Macrae’s perfect confidence, +he felt obliged to drop this attractive hypothesis.</p> +<p>They dined at the usual hour, and not long after dinner Lady Bude +said good-night, while her lord, who was very tired, soon followed her +example. Merton and the millionaire paid a visit to Blake, whom +they found asleep, and the doctor, having taken supper and accepted +an invitation to stay all night, joined the two other men in the smoking-room. +In answer to inquiries about the patient, Dr. MacTavish said, ‘It’s +jist concussion, slight concussion, and nervous shoke. No that +muckle the maiter wi’ him but a clour on the hairnspan, and midge +bites, forbye the disagreeableness o’ being clamped doon for a +wheen hours in a wat tussock o’ bracken.’</p> +<p>This diagnosis, though not perfectly intelligible to Merton, seemed +to reassure Mr. Macrae.</p> +<p>‘He’s a bit concetty, the chiel,’ added the worthy +physician, ‘and it may be a day or twa or he judges <!-- page 364--><span class="pagenum">p. 364</span>he +can leave his bed. Jist nervous collapse. But, bless my +soul, what’s thon?’</p> +<p>‘Thon’ had brought Mr. Macrae to his feet with a bound. +It was the thrill of the electric bell which preluded to communications +from the wireless communicator! The instrument began to tick, +and to emit its inscribed tape.</p> +<p>‘Thank heaven,’ cried the millionaire, ‘now we +shall have light on this mystery.’ He read the message, +stamped his foot with an awful execration, and then, recovering himself, +handed the document to Merton. ‘The message is a disgusting +practical joke,’ he said. ‘Some one at the central +agency is playing tricks with the instrument.’</p> +<p>‘Am I to read the message aloud?’ asked Merton.</p> +<p>It was rather a difficult question, for the doctor was a perfect +stranger to all present, and the matters involved were of an intimate +delicacy, affecting the most sacred domestic relations.</p> +<p>‘Dr. MacTavish,’ said Mr. Macrae, ‘speaking as +Highlander to Highlander, these are circumstances, are they not, under +the seal of professional confidence?’</p> +<p>The big doctor rose to his feet.</p> +<p>‘They are, sir, but, Mr. Macrae, I am a married man. +This sad business of yours, I say it with sorrow, will be the talk of +the world to-morrow, as it is of the country side to-day. If you +will excuse me, I would rather know nothing, and be able to tell nothing, +so I’ll take my pipe outside with me.’</p> +<p>‘Not alone, don’t go alone, Dr. MacTavish,’ said +Merton; ‘Mr. Macrae will need his telegraphic operator <!-- page 365--><span class="pagenum">p. 365</span>probably. +Let me play you a hundred up at billiards.’</p> +<p>The doctor liked nothing better; soon the balls were rattling, while +the millionaire was closeted alone with Donald Macdonald and the wireless +thing.</p> +<p>After one game, of which he was the winner, the doctor, with much +delicacy, asked leave to go to bed. Merton conducted him to his +room, and, returning, was hailed by Mr. Macrae.</p> +<p>‘Here is the pleasant result of our communications,’ +he said, reading aloud the message which he had first received.</p> +<blockquote><p>‘The Seven Hunters. August 9, 7.47 p.m.</p> +<p>‘Do not be anxious about Miss Macrae. She is in perfect +health, and accompanied by three chaperons accustomed to move in the +first circles. The one question is How Much? Sorry to be +abrupt, but the sooner the affair is satisfactorily concluded the better. +A reply through your Gianesi machine will reach us, and will meet with +prompt attention.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>‘A practical joke,’ said Merton. ‘The melancholy +news has reached town through Bude’s telegrams, and somebody at +the depôt is playing tricks with the instrument.’</p> +<p>‘I have used the instrument to communicate that opinion to +the manufacturers,’ said Mr. Macrae, ‘but I have had no +reply.’</p> +<p>‘What does the jester mean by heading his communication “The +Seven Hunters”?’ asked Merton.</p> +<p>‘The name of a real or imaginary public-house, I suppose,’ +said Mr. Macrae.</p> +<p><!-- page 366--><span class="pagenum">p. 366</span>At this moment +the electric bell gave its signal, and the tape began to exude. +Mr. Macrae read the message aloud; it ran thus:</p> +<p>‘No good wiring to Gianesi and Giambresi at headquarters. +You are hitched on to us, and to nobody else. Better climb down. +What are your terms?’</p> +<p>‘This is infuriating,’ said Mr. Macrae. ‘It +<i>must</i> be a practical joke, but how to reach the operators?’</p> +<p>‘Let me wire to-morrow by the old-fashioned way,’ said +Merton; ‘I hear that one need not go to Lairg to wire. One +can do that from Inchnadampf, much nearer. That is quicker than +steaming to Loch Inver.’</p> +<p>‘Thank you very much, Mr. Merton; I must be here myself. +You had better take the motor—trouble dazes a man—I forgot +the motor when I ordered the tandem this morning.’</p> +<p>‘Very good,’ said Merton. ‘At what hour shall +I start?’</p> +<p>‘We all need rest; let us say at ten o’clock.’</p> +<p>‘All right,’ replied Merton. ‘Now do, pray, +try to get a good night of sleep.’</p> +<p>Mr. Macrae smiled wanly: ‘I mean to force myself to read <i>Emma</i>, +by Miss Austen, till the desired effect is produced.’</p> +<p>Merton went to bed, marvelling at the self-command of the millionaire. +He himself slept ill, absorbed in regret and darkling conjecture.</p> +<p>After writing out several telegrams for Merton to carry, the smitten +victim of enormous opulence sought repose. But how vainly! +Between him and the pages which report the prosings of Miss Bates and +<!-- page 367--><span class="pagenum">p. 367</span>Mr. Woodhouse intruded +visions of his daughter, a captive, perhaps crossing the Atlantic, perhaps +hidden, who knew, in a shieling or a cavern in the untrodden wastes +of Assynt or of Lord Reay’s country. At last these appearances +were merged in sleep.</p> +<h3>III. Logan to the Rescue!</h3> +<p>As Merton sped on the motor next day to the nearest telegraph station, +with Mr. Macrae’s sheaf of despatches, Dr. MacTavish found him +a very dull companion. He named the lochs and hills, Quinag, Suilvean, +Ben Mór, he dwelt on the merits of the trout in the lochs; he +showed the melancholy improvements of the old Duke; he spoke of duchesses +and of crofters, of anglers and tourists; he pointed to the ruined castle +of the man who sold the great Montrose—or did not sell him. +Merton was irresponsive, trying to think. What was this mystery? +Why did the wireless machine bring no response from its headquarters; +or how could practical jokers have intruded into the secret chambers +of Messrs. Gianesi and Giambresi? These dreams or visions of his +own on the night before Miss Macrae was taken—were they wholly +due to tobacco and the liver?</p> +<p>‘I thought I was awake,’ said Merton to himself, ‘when +I was only dreaming about the crimson blot on the ceiling. Was +I asleep when I saw the tartans go down the stairs? I used to +walk in my sleep as a boy. It is very queer!’</p> +<p>‘Frae the top o’ Ben Mór,’ the doctor was +saying, <!-- page 368--><span class="pagenum">p. 368</span>‘on +a fine day, they tell me, with a glass you can pick up “The Seven +Hunters.”’</p> +<p>‘Eh, what? I beg your pardon, I am so confused by this +wretched affair. What did you say you can pick up?’</p> +<p>‘Just “The Seven Hunters,”’ said the doctor +rather sulkily.</p> +<p>‘And what are “The Seven Hunters”?’</p> +<p>‘Just seven wee sma’ islandies ahint the Butt of Lewis. +The maps ca’ them the Flanan Islands.’</p> +<p>Merton’s heart gave a thump. The first message from the +Gianesi invention was dated ‘The Seven Hunters.’ Here +was a clue.</p> +<p>‘Are the islands inhabited?’ asked Merton.</p> +<p>‘Just wi’ wild goats, and, maybe, fishers drying their +fish. And three men in a lighthouse on one of them,’ said +the doctor.</p> +<p>They now rushed up to the hotel and telegraph office of Inchnadampf. +The doctor, after visiting the bar, went on in the motor to Lairg; it +was to return for Merton, who had business enough on hand in sending +the despatches. He was thinking over ‘The Seven Hunters.’ +It might be, probably was, a blind, or the kidnappers, having touched +there, might have departed in any direction—to Iceland, for what +he knew. But the name, ‘the Seven Hunters,’ was not +likely to have been invented by a practical joker in London. If +not, the conspirators had really captured and kept to themselves Mr. +Macrae’s line of wireless communications. How could that +have been done? Merton bitterly regretted that his general information +did not include electrical science.</p> +<p><!-- page 369--><span class="pagenum">p. 369</span>However, he had +first to send the despatches. In one Mr. Macrae informed Gianesi +and Giambresi of the condition of their instrument, and bade them send +another at once with a skilled operator, and to look out for probable +tamperers in their own establishment. This despatch was in a cypher +which before he got the new invention, and while he used the old wires, +Mr. Macrae had arranged with the electricians. The words of the +despatch were, therefore, peculiar, and the Highland lass who operated, +a girl of great beauty and modesty, at first declined to transmit the +message.</p> +<p>‘It’s maybe no proper, for a’ that I ken,’ +she urged, and only by invoking a local person of authority, and using +the name of Mr. Macrae very freely, could Merton obtain the transmission +of the despatch.</p> +<p>In another document Mr. Macrae ordered ‘more motors’ +and a dozen bicycles, as the Nabob of old ordered ‘more curricles.’ +He also telegraphed to the Home Office, the Admiralty, the Hereditary +Lord High Admiral of the West Coast, to Messrs. McBrain, of the steamers, +and to every one who might have any access to the control of marine +police or information. He wired to the police at New York, bidding +them warn all American stations, and to the leading New York newspapers, +knowing the energy and inquiring, if imaginative, character of their +reporters. Bude ought to have done all this on the previous day, +but Bude’s ideas were limited. Nothing, however, was lost, +as America is not reached in forty-eight hours. The millionaire +instructed Scotland Yard to warn all foreign <!-- page 370--><span class="pagenum">p. 370</span>ports, +and left them <i>carte-blanche</i> as to the offer of a reward for the +discovery of his missing daughter. He also put off all the guests +whom he had been expecting at Castle Skrae.</p> +<p>Merton was amazed at the energy and intelligence of a paternal mind +smitten by sudden grief. Mr. Macrae had even telegraphed to every +London newspaper, and to the leading Scottish and provincial journals, +‘No Interviewers need Apply.’ Several hours were spent, +as may be imagined, in getting off these despatches from a Highland +rural office, and Merton tried to reward the fair operator. But +she declined to accept a present for doing her duty, and expressed lively +sympathy for the poor young lady who was lost. In a few days a +diamond-studded watch and chain arrived for Miss MacTurk.</p> +<p>Merton himself wired to Logan, imploring him, in the name of friendship, +to abandon all engagements, and come to Inchnadampf. Where kidnapping +was concerned he knew that Logan must be interested, and might be useful; +but, of course, he could not invite him to Castle Skrae. Meanwhile +he secured rooms for Logan at the excellent inn. Lady Fastcastle, +he knew, was in England, brooding over her first-born, the Master of +Fastcastle.</p> +<p>Before these duties were performed the motor returned from Lairg, +bearing the two London detectives, one disguised as a gillie (he was +the detective who had the Gaelic), the other as a clergyman of the Church +of England. To Merton he whispered that he was to be an early +friend of Mr. Macrae, come to comfort him on the first news of his disaster. +As to <!-- page 371--><span class="pagenum">p. 371</span>the other, +the gillie, Mr. Macrae was known to have been in want of an assistant +to the stalker, and Duncan Mackay (of Scotland Yard) had accepted the +situation. Merton approved of these arrangements; they were such +as he would himself have suggested.</p> +<p>‘But I don’t see what we can do, sir,’ said the +clerical detective (the Rev. Mr. Williams), ‘except perhaps find +out if it was a put up thing from within.’</p> +<p>Merton gave him a succinct sketch of the events, and he could see +that Mr. Williams already suspected Donald Macdonald, the engineer. +Merton, Mr. Williams, and the driver now got into the motor, and were +followed by the gillie-detective and a man to drive in a dog-cart hired +from the inn. Merton ordered all answers to telegrams to be sent +by boys on bicycles.</p> +<p>It was late ere he returned to Castle Skrae. There nothing +of importance had occurred, except the arrival of more messages from +the wireless machine. They insisted that Miss Macrae was in perfect +health, but implored the millionaire to settle instantly, lest anxiety +for a father’s grief should undermine her constitution.</p> +<p>Mr. Williams had a long interview with Mr. Macrae. It was arranged +that he should read family prayers in the morning and evening. +He left <i>The Church Quarterly Review</i> and numbers of <i>The Expositor</i>, +<i>The Guardian</i>, and <i>The Pilot</i> in the hall with his great +coat, and on the whole his entry was very well staged. Duncan +Mackay occupied a room at the keeper’s, who had only eight children.</p> +<p>Mr. Williams asked if he might see Mr. Blake; he <!-- page 372--><span class="pagenum">p. 372</span>could +impart religious consolation. Merton carried this message, in +answer to which Blake, who was in bed very sulky and sleepy, merely +replied, ‘Kick out the hell-hound.’</p> +<p>Merton was obliged to soften this rude message, saying that unfortunately +Mr. Blake was of the older faith, though he had expressed no wish for +the ministrations of Father McColl.</p> +<p>On hearing this Mr. Williams merely sighed, as the Budes were present. +He had been informed as to their tenets, and had even expressed a desire +to labour for their enlightenment, by way of giving local colour. +He had, he said, some stirring Protestant tracts among his clerical +properties. Mr. Macrae, however, had gently curbed this zeal, +so on hearing of Blake’s religious beliefs the sigh of Mr. Williams +was delicately subdued.</p> +<p>Dinner-time arrived. Blake did not appear; the butler said +that he supported existence solely on dried toast and milk and soda-water. +He was one of the people who keep a private clinical thermometer, and +he sent the bulletin that his temperature was 103. He hoped to +come downstairs to-morrow. Mr. Williams gave the party some news +of the outer world. He had brought the <i>Scotsman</i>, and Mr. +Macrae had the gloomy satisfaction of reading a wildly inaccurate report +of his misfortune. Correct news had not reached the press, but +deep sympathy was expressed. The melancholy party soon broke up, +Mr. Williams conducting family prayers with much unction, after the +Budes had withdrawn.</p> +<p>In a private interview with the millionaire Merton <!-- page 373--><span class="pagenum">p. 373</span>told +him how he had discovered the real meaning of ‘The Seven Hunters,’ +whence the first telegram of the kidnappers was dated. Neither +man thought the circumstance very important.</p> +<p>‘They would hardly have ventured to name the islands if they +had any idea of staying there,’ the millionaire said, ‘besides +any heartless jester could find the name on a map.’</p> +<p>This was obvious, but as Lady Bude was much to be pitied, alone, +in the circumstances, Mr. Macrae determined to send her and Bude on +the yacht, the <i>Flora Macdonald</i>, to cruise round the Butt of Lewis +and examine the islets. Both Bude and his wife were devoted to +yachting, and the isles might yield something in the way of natural +history.</p> +<p>Next day (Wednesday) the Budes steamed away, and there came many +answers to the telegrams of Mr. Macrae, and one from Logan to Merton. +Logan was hard by, cruising with his cousin, Admiral Chirnside, at the +naval manœuvres on the northeast coast. He would come to +Inchnadampf at once. Mr. Macrae heard from Gianesi and Giambresi. +Gianesi himself was coming with a fresh machine. Mr. Macrae wished +it had been Giambresi, whom he knew; Gianesi he had never met. +Condolences, of course, poured in from all quarters, even the most exalted. +The Emperor of Germany was most sympathetic. But there was no +news of importance. Several yachting parties had been suspected +and examined; three young ladies at Oban, Applecross, and Tobermory, +had established their identity and proved that they were not Miss Macrae.</p> +<p><!-- page 374--><span class="pagenum">p. 374</span>All day the wireless +machine was silent. Mr. Williams was shown all the rooms in the +castle, and met Blake, who appeared at luncheon. Blake was most +civil. He asked for a private interview with Mr. Macrae, who inquired +whether his school friend, Mr. Williams, might share it? Blake +was pleased to give them both all the information he had, though his +head, he admitted, still rang with the cowardly blow that had stunned +him. He was told of the discovery of the burned boat, and was +asked whether it had approached from east or west, from the side of +the Atlantic, or from the head of the sea loch.</p> +<p>‘From Kinlocharty,’ he said, ‘from the head of +the loch, the landward side.’ This agreed with the evidence +of the villagers on the other side of the sea loch.</p> +<p>Would he recognise the crew? He had only seen them at a certain +distance, when they landed, but in spite of the blow on his head he +remembered the black beard of one man, and the red beard of another. +To be sure they might shave off their beards, yet these two he thought +he could identify. Speaking to Miss Macrae as the men passed them, +he had called one Donald Dubh, or ‘black,’ and the other +Donald Ban, or ‘fair.’ They carried heavy shepherds’ +crooks in their hands. Their dress was Lowland, but they wore +unusually broad bonnets of the old sort, drooping over the eyes. +Blake knew no more, except his anguish from the midges.</p> +<p>He expressed his hope to be well enough to go away on Friday; he +would retire to the inn at Scourie, and try to persevere with his literary +work. <!-- page 375--><span class="pagenum">p. 375</span>Mr. Macrae +would not hear of this; as, if the miscreants were captured, Blake alone +could have a chance of identifying them. To this Blake replied +that, as long as Mr. Macrae thought that he might be useful, he was +at his service.</p> +<p>To Merton, Blake displayed himself in a new light. He said +that he remembered little of what occurred after he was found at the +foot of the cliff. Probably he was snappish and selfish; he was +suffering very much. His head, indeed, was still bound up, and +his face showed how he had suffered. Merton shook hands with him, +and said that he hoped Blake would forget his own behaviour, for which +he was sincerely sorry.</p> +<p>‘Oh, the chaff?’ said Blake. ‘Never mind, +I dare say I played the fool. I have been thinking, when my brain +would give me leave, as I lay in bed. Merton, you are a trifle +my senior, and you know the world much better. I have lived in +a writing and painting set, where we talked nonsense till it went to +our heads, and we half believed it. And, to tell you the truth, +the presence of women always sets me off. I am a humbug; I do +<i>not</i> know Gaelic, but I mean to work away at my drama for all +that. This kind of shock against the realities of life sobers +a fellow.’</p> +<p>Blake spoke simply, in an unaffected, manly way.</p> +<p>‘<i>Semel in saninivimus omnes</i>!’ said Merton.</p> +<p>‘<i>Nec lusisse pudet</i>!’ said Blake, ‘and the +rest of it. I know there’s a parallel in the <i>Greek Anthology</i>, +somewhere. I’ll go and get my copy.’</p> +<p>He went into the observatory (they had been sitting on a garden seat +outside), and Merton thought to himself:</p> +<p><!-- page 376--><span class="pagenum">p. 376</span>‘He is not +such a bad fellow. Not many of your young poets know anything +but French.’</p> +<p>Blake seemed to have some difficulty in finding his Anthology. +At last he came out with rather a ‘carried’ look, as the +Scots say, rather excited.</p> +<p>‘Here it is,’ he said, and handed Merton the little volume, +of a Tauchnitz edition, open at the right page. Merton read the +epigram. ‘Very neat and good,’ he said.</p> +<p>‘Now, Merton,’ said Blake, ‘it is not usual, is +it, for ministers of the Anglican sect to play the spy?’</p> +<p>‘What in the world do you mean?’ asked Merton. +‘Oh, I guess, the Rev. Mr. Williams! Were you not told that +his cure of souls is in Scotland Yard? I ought to have told you, +I thought our host would have done so. What was the holy man doing?’</p> +<p>‘I was not told,’ said Blake, ‘I suppose Mr. Macrae +was too busy. So I was rather surprised, when I went into my room +for my book, to find the clergyman examining my things and taking books +out of one of my book boxes.’</p> +<p>‘Good heavens!’ exclaimed Merton. ‘What did +you do?’</p> +<p>‘I locked the door of the room, and handed Mr. Williams the +key of my despatch box. “I have a few private trifles there,” +I said, “the key may save you trouble.” Then I sat +down and wrote a note to Mr. Macrae, and rang the bell and asked the +servant to carry the note to his master. Mr. Macrae came, and +I explained the situation and asked him to be kind enough to order the +motor, if he could spare it, or anything to carry me to the nearest +inn.’</p> +<p><!-- page 377--><span class="pagenum">p. 377</span>‘I shall +order it, Mr. Blake,’ said Mr. Macrae, ‘but it will be to +remove this person, whom I especially forbade to molest any of my guests. +I don’t know how I forgot to tell you who he is, a detective; +the others were told.’</p> +<p>‘He confounded himself in excuses; it was horribly awkward.’</p> +<p>‘Horribly!’ said Merton.</p> +<p>‘He rated the man for visiting his guests’ rooms without +his knowledge. I dare say the parson has turned over all <i>your</i> +things.’</p> +<p>Merton blenched. He had some of the correspondence of the Disentanglers +with him, rather private matter, naturally.</p> +<p>‘He had not the key of my despatch box,’ said Merton.</p> +<p>‘He could open it with a quill, I believe,’ said Blake. +‘They do—in novels.’</p> +<p>Merton felt very uneasy. ‘What was the end of it?’ +he asked.</p> +<p>‘Oh, I said that if the man was within his duty the accident +was only one of those which so singular a misfortune brings with it. +I would stay while Mr. Macrae wanted me. I handed over my keys, +and insisted that all my luggage and drawers and things should be examined. +But Mr. Macrae would not listen to me, and forbade the fellow to enter +any of—the bedrooms.’</p> +<p>‘Begad, I’ll go and look at my own despatch box,’ +said Merton.</p> +<p>‘I shall sit in the shade,’ said Blake.</p> +<p>Merton did examine his box, but could not see <!-- page 378--><span class="pagenum">p. 378</span>that +any of the papers had been disarranged. Still, as the receptacle +was full of family secrets he did not feel precisely comfortable. +Going out on the lawn he met Mr. Macrae, who took him into a retired +place and told him what had occurred.</p> +<p>‘I had given the man the strictest orders not to invade the +rooms of any of my guests,’ he said; ‘it is too odious.’</p> +<p>The Rev. Mr. Williams being indisposed, dined alone in his room that +night; so did Blake, who was still far from well.</p> +<p>The only other incident was that Donald Macdonald and the new gillie, +Duncan Mackay, were reported to be ‘lying around in a frightfully +dissolute state.’ Donald was a sober man, but Mackay, he +explained next morning, proved to be his long lost cousin, hence the +revel. Mackay, separately, stated that he had made Donald intoxicated +for the purpose of eliciting any guilty secret which he might possess. +But whisky had elicited nothing.</p> +<p>On the whole the London detectives had not been entirely a success. +Mr. Macrae therefore arranged to send both of them back to Lairg, where +they would strike the line, and return to the metropolis.</p> +<p>Merton had casually talked of Logan (Lord Fastcastle) to Mr. Macrae +on the previous evening, and mentioned that he was now likely to be +at Inchnadampf. Mr. Macrae knew something of Logan, and before +he sped the parting detectives, asked Merton whether he thought that +he might send a note to Inchnadampf inviting his friend to come and +bear him company? Merton gravely said that in such a <!-- page 379--><span class="pagenum">p. 379</span>crisis +as theirs he thought that Logan would be extremely helpful, and that +he was a friend of the Budes. Perhaps he himself had better go +and pick up Logan and inform him fully as to the mysterious events? +As Mr. Gianesi was also expected from London on that day (Thursday) +to examine the wireless machine, which had been silent, Mr. Macrae sent +off several vehicles, as well as the motor that carried the detectives. +Merton drove the tandem himself.</p> +<p>Merton found Logan, with his Spanish bull-dog, Bouncer, loafing outside +the hotel door at Inchnadampf. He greeted Merton in a state of +suppressed glee; the whole adventure was much to the taste of the scion +of Rostalrig. Merton handed him Mr. Macrae’s letter of invitation.</p> +<p>‘Come, won’t I come, rather!’ said Logan.</p> +<p>‘Of course we must wait to rest the horses,’ said Merton. +‘The motor has gone on to Lairg, carrying two detectives who have +made a pretty foozle of it, and it will bring back an electrician.’</p> +<p>‘What for?’ asked Logan.</p> +<p>‘I must tell you the whole story,’ said Merton. +‘Let us walk a little way—too many gillies and people loafing +about here.’</p> +<p>They walked up the road and sat down by little Loch Awe, the lochan +on the way to Alt-na-gealgach. Merton told all the tale, beginning +with his curious experiences on the night before the disappearance of +Miss Macrae, and ending with the dismissal of the detectives. +He also confided to Logan the importance of the matter to himself, and +entreated him to be serious.</p> +<p><!-- page 380--><span class="pagenum">p. 380</span>Logan listened +very attentively.</p> +<p>When Merton had ended, Logan said, ‘Old boy, you were the making +of me: you may trust me. Serious it is. A great deal of +capital must have been put into this business.’</p> +<p>‘A sprat to catch a whale,’ said Merton. ‘You +mean about nobbling the electric machine? How could <i>that</i> +be done?’</p> +<p>‘That—and other things. I don’t know <i>how</i> +the machine was nobbled, but it could not be done cheap. Would +you mind telling me your dreams again?’</p> +<p>Merton repeated the story.</p> +<p>Logan was silent.</p> +<p>‘Do you see your way?’ asked Merton.</p> +<p>‘I must have time to think it out,’ said Logan. +‘It is rather mixed. When was Bude to return from his cruise +to “The Seven Hunters”?’</p> +<p>‘Perhaps to-night,’ said Merton. ‘We cannot +be sure. She is a very swift yacht, the <i>Flora Macdonald</i>.’</p> +<p>‘I’ll think it all over, Bude may give us a tip.’</p> +<p>No more would Logan say, beyond asking questions, which Merton could +not answer, about the transatlantic past of the vanished heiress.</p> +<p>They loitered back towards the hotel and lunched. The room +was almost empty, all the guests of the place were out fishing. +Presently the motor returned from Lairg, bringing Mr. Gianesi and a +large box of his electrical appliances. Merton rapidly told him +all that he did not already know through Mr. Macrae’s telegrams. +He was a reserved man, rather young, and beyond thanking Merton, said +little, but pushed on towards Castle Skrae in the motor. ‘Some +other <!-- page 381--><span class="pagenum">p. 381</span>motors,’ +he said, ‘had arrived, and were being detained at Lairg.’ +They came later.</p> +<p>Merton and Logan followed in the tandem, Logan driving; they had +handed to Gianesi a sheaf of telegrams for the millionaire. As +to the objects of interest on the now familiar road, Merton enlightened +Logan, who seemed as absent-minded as Merton had been, when instructed +by Dr. MacTavish. As they approached the Castle, Merton observed, +from a height, the <i>Flora Macdonald</i> steaming into the sea loch.</p> +<p>‘Let us drive straight down to the cove and meet them,’ +he said.</p> +<p>They arrived at the cove just as the boat from the yacht touched +the shore. The Budes were astonished and delighted to see their +old friend, Logan, and his dog, Bouncer, a tawny black muzzled, bow-legged +hero, was admired by Lady Bude.</p> +<p>Merton rapidly explained. ‘Now, what tidings?’ +he asked.</p> +<p>The party walked aside on the shore, and Bude swiftly narrated what +he had discovered.</p> +<p>‘They <i>have</i> been there,’ he said. ‘We +drew six of the islets blank, including the islet of the lighthouse. +The men there had seen a large yacht, two ladies and a gentleman from +it had visited them. They knew no more. Desert places, the +other isles are, full of birds. On the seventh isle we found some +Highland fishermen from the Lewis in a great state of excitement. +They had only landed an hour before to pick up some fish they had left +to dry on the rocks. They had no English, but one of our crew +had the Gaelic, <!-- page 382--><span class="pagenum">p. 382</span>and +interpreted in Scots. Regular Gaels, they did not want to speak, +but I offered money, gold, let them see it. Then they took us +to a cave. Do you know Mackinnon’s cave in Mull, opposite +Iona?’</p> +<p>‘Yes, drive on!’ said Merton, much interested.</p> +<p>‘Well, inside it was pitched an empty corrugated iron house, +quite new, and another, on the further side, outside the cave.’</p> +<p>‘I picked up this in the interior of the cave,’ said +Lady Bude.</p> +<p>‘This’ was a golden hair-pin of peculiar make.</p> +<p>‘That’s the kind of hair-pin she wears,’ said Lady +Bude.</p> +<p>‘By Jove!’ said Merton and Logan in one voice.</p> +<p>‘But that was all,’ said Bude. ‘There was +no other trace, except that plainly people had been coming and going, +and living there. They had left some empty bottles, and two intact +champagne bottles. We tasted it, it was excellent! The Lewis +men, who had not heard of the affair, could tell nothing more, except, +what is absurd, that they had lately seen a dragon flying far off over +the sea. A <i>dragon volant</i>, did you ever hear such nonsense? +The interpreter pronounced it “draigon.” He had not +too much English himself.’</p> +<p>‘The Highlanders are so delightfully superstitious,’ +said Lady Bude.</p> +<p>Logan opened his lips to speak, but said nothing.</p> +<p>‘I don’t think we should keep Mr. Macrae waiting,’ +said Lady Bude.</p> +<p>‘If Bude will take the reins,’ said Merton, ‘you +and he can be at the Castle in no time. We shall walk.’</p> +<p><!-- page 383--><span class="pagenum">p. 383</span>‘Excuse +me a moment,’ said Logan. ‘A word with you, Bude.’</p> +<p>He took Bude aside, uttered a few rapid sentences, and then helped +Lady Bude into the tandem. Bude followed, and drove away.</p> +<p>‘Is your secret to be kept from me?’ asked Merton.</p> +<p>‘Well, old boy, you never told <i>me</i> the mystery of the +Emu’s feathers! Secret for secret, out with it; how did +the feathers help you, if they <i>did</i> help you, to find out my uncle, +the Marquis? <i>Gifgaff</i>, as we say in Berwickshire. +Out with your feathers! and I’ll produce my <i>dragon volant</i>, +tail and all.’</p> +<p>Merton was horrified. The secret of the Emu’s feathers +involved the father of Lady Fastcastle, of his old friend’s wife, +in a very distasteful way. Logan, since his marriage, had never +shown any curiosity in the matter. His was a joyous nature; no +one was less of a self-tormentor.</p> +<p>‘Well, old fellow,’ said Merton, ‘keep your dragon, +and I’ll keep my Emu.’</p> +<p>‘I won’t keep him long, I assure you,’ said Logan. +‘Only for a day or two, I dare say; then you’ll know; sooner +perhaps. But, for excellent reasons, I asked Bude and Lady Bude +to say nothing about the hallucination of these second-sighted Highland +fishers. I have a plan. I think we shall run in the kidnappers; +keep your pecker up. You shall be in it!’</p> +<p>With this promise, and with Logan’s jovial confidence (he kept +breaking into laughter as he went) Merton had to be satisfied, though +in no humour for laughing.</p> +<p><!-- page 384--><span class="pagenum">p. 384</span>‘I’m +working up to my <i>dénouement</i>.’ Logan said. +‘Tremendously dramatic! You shall be on all through; I am +keeping the fat for you, Merton. It is no bad thing for a young +man to render the highest possible services to a generous millionaire, +especially in the circumstances.’</p> +<p>‘You’re rather patronising,’ said Merton, a little +hurt.</p> +<p>‘No, no,’ said Logan. ‘I have played second +fiddle to you often, do let me take command this time—or, at all +events, wait till you see my plot unfolded. Then you can take +your part, or leave it alone, or modify to taste. Nothing can +be fairer.’</p> +<p>Merton admitted that these proposals were loyal, and worthy of their +old and tried friendship.</p> +<p>‘<i>Un dragon volant</i>, flying over the empty sea!’ +said Logan. ‘The Highlanders beat the world for fantastic +visions, and the Islanders beat the Highlanders. But, look here, +am I too inquisitive? The night when we first thought of the Disentanglers +you said there was—somebody. But I understood that she and +you were of one mind, and that only parents and poverty were in the +way. And now, from what you told me this morning at Inchnadampf, +it seems that there is no understanding between you and <i>this</i> +lady, Miss Macrae.’</p> +<p>‘There is none,’ said Merton. ‘I tried to +keep my feelings to myself—I’m ashamed to say that I doubt +if I succeeded.’</p> +<p>‘Any chance?’ asked Logan, putting his arm in Merton’s +in the old schoolboy way.</p> +<p>‘I would rather not speak about it,’ said Merton. +<!-- page 385--><span class="pagenum">p. 385</span>‘I had meant +to go myself on the Monday. Then came the affair of Sunday night,’ +and he sighed.</p> +<p>‘Then the somebody before was another somebody?’</p> +<p>‘Yes,’ said Merton, turning rather red.</p> +<p>‘Men have died and the worms have eaten them, but not for love,’ +muttered Logan.</p> +<h3>IV. The Adventure of Eachain of the Hairy Arm</h3> +<p>On arriving at the Castle Logan and Merton found poor Mr. Macrae +comparatively cheerful. Bude and Lady Bude had told what they +had gleaned, and the millionaire, recognising his daughter’s hair-pin, +had all but broken down. Lady Bude herself had wept as he thanked +her for this first trace, this endearing relic, of the missing girl, +and he warmly welcomed Merton, who had detected the probable meaning +of the enigmatic ‘Seven Hunters.’</p> +<p>‘It is to <i>you</i>,’ he said, ‘Mr. Merton, that +I owe the intelligence of my daughter’s life and probable comfort.’</p> +<p>Lady Bude caught Merton’s eye; one of hers was slightly veiled +by her long lashes.</p> +<p>The telegrams of the day had only brought the usual stories of the +fruitless examination of yachts, and of hopes unfulfilled and clues +that led to nothing. The outermost islets were being searched, +and a steamer had been sent to St. Kilda. At home Mr. Gianesi +had explained to Mr. Macrae that he and his partner were forced, reluctantly, +by the nature of the case, to suspect treason within their own establishment +<!-- page 386--><span class="pagenum">p. 386</span>in London, a thing +hitherto unprecedented. They had therefore installed a new machine +in a carefully locked chamber at their place, and Mr. Gianesi was ready +at once to set up a corresponding recipient engine at Castle Skrae. +Mr. Macrae wished first to remove the machine in the smoking-room, but +Blake ventured to suggest that it had better be left where it was.</p> +<p>‘The conspirators,’ he said, ‘have made one blunder +already, by mentioning “The Seven Hunters,” unless, indeed, +that was intentional; they <i>may</i> have meant to lighten our anxiety, +without leaving any useful clue. They may make another mistake: +in any case it is as well to be in touch with them.’</p> +<p>At this moment the smoking-room machine began to tick and emitted +a message. It ran, ‘Glad you visited the Hunters. +You see we do ourselves very well. Hope you drank our health, +we left some bottles of champagne on purpose. No nasty feeling, +only a matter of business. Do hurry up and come to terms.’</p> +<p>‘Impudent dogs!’ said Mr. Macrae. ‘But I +think you are right, Mr. Blake; we had better leave these communications +open.’</p> +<p>Mr. Gianesi agreed that Blake had spoken words of wisdom. Merton +felt surprised at his practical common sense. It was necessary +to get another pole to erect on the roof of the observatory, with another +box at top for the new machine, but a flagstaff from the Castle leads +was found to serve the purpose, and the rest of the day was passed in +arranging the installation, the new machine being placed in Mr. Merton’s +<!-- page 387--><span class="pagenum">p. 387</span>own study. +Before dinner was over, Mr. Gianesi, who worked like a horse, was able +to announce that all was complete, and that a brief message, ‘Yours +received, all right,’ had passed through from his firm in London.</p> +<p>Soon after dinner Blake retired to his room; his head was still suffering, +and he could not bear smoke. Gianesi and Mr. Macrae were in the +Castle, Mr. Macrae feverishly reading the newspaper speculations on +the melancholy affair: leading articles on Science and Crime, the potentialities +of both, the perils of wealth, and such other thoughts as occurred to +active minds in Fleet Street. Gianesi’s room was in the +observatory, but he remained with Mr. Macrae in case he might be needed. +Merton and Logan were alone in the smoking-room, where Bude left them +early.</p> +<p>‘Now, Merton,’ said Logan, ‘you are going to come +on in the next scene. Have you a revolver?’</p> +<p>‘Heaven forbid!’ said Merton.</p> +<p>‘Well, I have! Now this is what you are to do. +We shall both turn in about twelve, and make a good deal of clatter +and talk as we do so. You will come with me into my room. +I’ll hand you the revolver, loaded, silently, while we talk fishing +shop with the door open. Then you will go rather noisily to your +room, bang the door, take off your shoes, and slip out again—absolutely +noiselessly—back into the smoking-room. You see that window +in the embrasure here, next the door, looking out towards the loch? +The curtain is drawn already, you will go on the window-seat and sit +tight! Don’t fall asleep! <!-- page 388--><span class="pagenum">p. 388</span>I +shall give you my portable electric lamp for reading in the train. +You may find it useful. Only don’t fall asleep. When +the row begins I shall come on.’</p> +<p>‘I see,’ said Merton. ‘But look here! +Suppose you slip out of your own room, locking the door quietly, and +into mine, where you can snore, you know—I snore myself—in +case anybody takes a fancy to see whether I am asleep? Leave your +dog in your own room, <i>he</i> snores, all Spanish bull-dogs do.’</p> +<p>‘Yes, that will serve,’ said Logan. ‘Merton, +your mind is not wholly inactive.’</p> +<p>They had some whisky and soda-water, and carried out the manœuvres +on which they had decided.</p> +<p>Merton, unshod, silently re-entered the smoking-room, his shoes in +his hand; Logan as tactfully occupied Merton’s room, and then +they waited. Presently, the smoking-room door being slightly ajar, +Merton heard Logan snoring very naturally; the Spanish bull-dog was +yet more sonorous. Gianesi came in, walked upstairs to his bedroom, +and shut his door; in half an hour he also was snoring; it was a nasal +trio.</p> +<p>Merton ‘drove the night along,’ like Dr. Johnson, by +repeating Latin and other verses. He dared not turn on the light +of his portable electric lamp and read; he was afraid to smoke; he heard +the owls towhitting and towhooing from the woods, and the clock on the +Castle tower striking the quarters and the hours.</p> +<p>One o’clock passed, two o’clock passed, a quarter after +two, then the bell of the wireless machine rang, <!-- page 389--><span class="pagenum">p. 389</span>the +machine began to tick; Merton sat tight, listening. All the curtains +of the windows were drawn, the room was almost perfectly dark; the snorings +had sometimes lulled, sometimes revived. Merton lay behind the +curtains on the window-seat, facing the door. He knew, almost +without the help of his ears, that the door was slowly, slowly opening. +Something entered, something paused, something stole silently towards +the wireless machine, and paused again. Then a glow suffused the +further end of the room, a disc of electric light, clearly from a portable +lamp. A draped form, in deep shadow, was exposed to Merton’s +view. He stole forward on tiptoe with noiseless feet; he leaped +on the back of the figure, threw his left arm round its neck, caught +its right wrist in a grip of steel, and yelled:</p> +<p>‘Mr. Eachain of the Hairy Arm, if I am not mistaken!’</p> +<p>At the same moment there came a click, the electric light was switched +on, Logan bounced on to the figure, tore away a revolver from the right +hand of which Merton held the wrist, and the two fell on the floor above +a struggling Highland warrior in the tartans of the Macraes. The +figure was thrown on its face.</p> +<p>‘Got you now, Mr. Blake!’ said Logan, turning the head +to the light. ‘D---n!’ he added; ‘it is Gianesi! +I thought we had the Irish minstrel.’</p> +<p>The figure only snarled, and swore in Italian.</p> +<p>‘First thing, anyhow, to tie him up,’ said Logan, producing +a serviceable cord.</p> +<p>Both Logan and Merton were muscular men, and <!-- page 390--><span class="pagenum">p. 390</span>presently +had the intruder tightly swathed in inextricable knots and gagged in +a homely but sufficient fashion.</p> +<p>‘Now, Merton,’ said Logan, ‘this is a bitter disappointment! +From your dream, or vision, of Eachain of the Hairy Arm, it was clear +to me that somebody, the poet for choice, had heard the yarn of the +Highland ghost, and was masquerading in the kilt for the purpose of +tampering with the electric dodge and communicating with the kidnappers. +Apparently I owe the bard an apology. You’ll sit on this +fellow’s chest while I go and bring Mr. Macrae.’</p> +<p>‘A message has come in on the machine,’ said Merton.</p> +<p>‘Well, he can read it; it is not our affair.’</p> +<p>Logan went off; Merton poured out a glass of Apollinaris water, added +a little whisky, and lit a cigarette. The figure on the floor +wriggled; Merton put the revolver which the man had dropped and Logan’s +pistol into a drawer of the writing-table, which he locked.</p> +<p>‘I do detest all that cheap revolver business,’ said +Merton.</p> +<p>The row had awakened Logan’s dog, which was howling dolefully +in the neighbouring room.</p> +<p>‘Queer situation, eh?’ said Merton to the prostrate figure.</p> +<p>Hurrying footsteps climbed the stairs; Mr. Macrae (with a shot-gun) +and Logan entered.</p> +<p>Mr. Macrae all but embraced Merton. ‘Had I a son, I could +have wished him to be like you,’ he said; ‘but my poor boy—’ +his voice broke. Merton <!-- page 391--><span class="pagenum">p. 391</span>had +not known before that the millionaire had lost a son. He did understand, +however, that the judicious Logan had given <i>him</i> the whole credit +of the exploit, for reasons too obvious to Merton.</p> +<p>‘Don’t thank <i>me</i>,’ he was saying, when Logan +interrupted:</p> +<p>‘Don’t you think, Mr. Macrae, you had better examine +the message that has just come in?’</p> +<p>Mr. Macrae read, ‘Glad they found the hair-pin, it will console +the old boy. Do not quite see how to communicate, if Gianesi, +who, you say, has arrived, removes the machine.’</p> +<p>‘Look here,’ cried Merton, ‘excuse my offering +advice, but we ought, I think, to send for Donald Macdonald <i>at once</i>. +We must flash back a message to those brutes, so they may think they +are still in communication with the traitor in our camp. That +beast on the floor could work it, of course, but he would only warn +<i>them</i>; we can’t check him. We must use Donald, and +keep them thinking that they are sending news to the traitor.’</p> +<p>‘But, by Jove,’ said Logan, ‘they have heard from +<i>him</i>, whoever he is, since Bude came back, for they know about +the finding of the hair-pin. You,’ he said to the wretched +captive, ‘have you been at this machine?’</p> +<p>The man, being gagged, only gasped.</p> +<p>‘There’s this, too,’ said Merton, ‘the senders +of the last message clearly think that Gianesi is against them. +If Gianesi removes the machine, they say—’</p> +<p>Merton did not finish his sentence, he rushed out of the room. +Presently he hurried back. ‘Mr. <!-- page 392--><span class="pagenum">p. 392</span>Macrae,’ +he said, ‘Blake’s door is locked. I can’t waken +him, and, if he were in his room, the noise we have made must have wakened +him already. Logan, ungag that creature!’</p> +<p>Logan removed the gag.</p> +<p>‘Who are <i>you</i>?’ he asked.</p> +<p>The captive was silent.</p> +<p>‘Mr. Macrae,’ said Merton, ‘may I run and bring +Donald and the other servants here? Donald must work the machine +at once, and we must break in Blake’s door, and, if he is off, +we must rouse the country after him.’</p> +<p>Mr. Macrae seemed almost dazed, the rapid sequence of unusual circumstances +being remote from his experience. In spite of the blaze of electric +light, the morning was beginning to steal into the room; the refreshments +on the table looked oddly dissipated, there was a heavy stale smell +of tobacco, and of whisky from a bottle that had been upset in the struggle. +Mr. Macrae opened a window and inhaled the fresh air from the Atlantic.</p> +<p>This revived him. ‘I’ll ring the alarm bell,’ +he said, and, putting a small key to an unnoticed keyhole in a panel, +he opened a tiny door, thrust in his hand, and pressed a knob. +Instantly from the Castle tower came the thunderous knell of the alarm. +‘I had it put in in case of fire or burglars,’ explained +the millionaire, adding automatically, ‘every modern improvement.’</p> +<p>In a few minutes the servants and gillies had gathered, hastily clad; +they were met by Logan, who briefly bade some bring hammers, and the +caber, or <!-- page 393--><span class="pagenum">p. 393</span>pine-tree +trunk that is tossed in Highland sports. It would make a good +battering-ram. Donald Macdonald he sent at once to Mr. Macrae. +He met Bude and Lady Bude, and rapidly explained that there was no danger +of fire. The Countess went back to her rooms, Bude returned with +Logan into the observatory. Here they found Donald telegraphing +to the conspirators, by the wireless engine, a message dictated by Merton:</p> +<p>‘Don’t be alarmed about communications. I have +got them to leave our machine in its place on the chance that you might +say something that would give you away. Gianesi suspects nothing. +Wire as usual, at about half-past two in the morning, when you mean +it for me.’</p> +<p>‘That ought to be good enough,’ said Logan approvingly, +while the hammers and the caber, under Mr. Macrae’s directions, +were thundering on the door of Blake’s room. The door, which +was very strong, gave way at last with a crash; in they burst. +The room was empty, a rope fastened to the ironwork of the bedstead +showed the poet’s means of escape, for a long rope-ladder swung +from the window. On the table lay a letter directed to</p> +<blockquote><p><i>Thomas Merton, Esq</i>.,<br /> +<i>care of Ronald Macrae, Esq</i>.,<br /> +<i>Castle Skrae</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Mr. Macrae took the letter, bidding Benson, the butler, search the +room, and conveyed the epistle to Merton, who opened it. It ran +thus:—</p> +<blockquote><p><!-- page 394--><span class="pagenum">p. 394</span>‘<span class="smcap">Dear +Merton</span>,—As a man of the world, and slightly my senior, +you must have expected to meet me in the smoking-room to-night, or at +least Lord Fastcastle probably entertained that hope. I saw that +things were getting a little too warm, and made other arrangements. +It is a little hard on the poor fellow whom you have probably mauled, +if you have not shot each other. As he has probably informed you, +he is not Mr. Gianesi, but a dismissed <i>employé</i>, whom we +enlisted, and whom I found it desirable to leave behind me. These +discomforts will occur; I myself did not look for so severe an assault +as I suffered down at the cove on Sunday evening. The others carried +out their parts only too conscientiously in my case. You will +not easily find an opportunity of renewing our acquaintance, as I slit +and cut the tyres of all the motors, except that on which I am now retiring +from hospitable Castle Skrae, having also slit largely the tyres of +the bicycles. Mr. Macrae’s new wireless machine has been +rendered useless by my unfortunate associate, and, as I have rather +spiked all the wheeled conveyances (I could not manage to scuttle the +yacht), you will be put to some inconvenience to re-establish communications. +By that time my trail will be lost. I enclose a banknote for 10<i>l</i>., +which pray, if you would oblige me, distribute among the servants at +the Castle. Please thank Mr. Macrae for all his hospitality. +Among my books you may find something to interest you. You may +keep my manuscript poems.</p> +<p>Very faithfully yours,<br /> +<span class="smcap">Gerald Blake</span>.’</p> +<p>‘P. S.—The genuine Gianesi will probably arrive at Lairg +to-morrow. My unfortunate associate (whom I cannot sufficiently +pity), relieved him of his ingenious machine <i>en</i> <!-- page 395--><span class="pagenum">p. 395</span><i>route</i>, +and left him, heavily drugged, in a train bound for Fort William. +Or perhaps Gianesi may come by sea to Loch Inver. G.B.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>When Merton had read this elegant epistle aloud, Benson entered, +bearing electrical apparatus which had been found in the book boxes +abandoned by Blake. What he had done was obvious enough. +He had merely smuggled in, in his book boxes, a machine which corresponded +with that of the kidnappers, and had substituted its mechanism for that +supplied to Mr. Macrae by Gianesi and Giambresi. This he must +have arranged on the Saturday night, when Merton saw the kilted appearance +of Eachain of the Hairy Arm. A few metallic atoms from the coherer +on the floor of the smoking-room had caught Merton’s eye before +breakfast on Sunday morning. Now it was Friday morning! +And still no means of detecting and capturing the kidnappers had been +discovered.</p> +<p>Out of the captive nothing could be extracted. The room had +been cleared, save for Mr. Macrae, Logan, and Bude, and the man had +been interrogated. He refused to answer any questions, and demanded +to be taken before a magistrate. Now, where was there a magistrate?</p> +<p>Logan lighted the smoking-room fire, thrust the poker into it, and +began tying hard knots in a length of cord, all this silently. +His brows were knit, his lips were set, in his eye shone the wild light +of the blood of Restalrig. Bude and Mr. Macrae looked on aghast.</p> +<p>‘What <i>are</i> you about?’ asked Merton.</p> +<p><!-- page 396--><span class="pagenum">p. 396</span>‘There are +methods of extracting information from reluctant witnesses,’ snarled +Logan.</p> +<p>‘Oh, bosh!’ said Merton. ‘Mr. Macrae cannot +permit you to revive your ancestral proceedings.’</p> +<p>Logan threw down his knotted cord. ‘I beg your pardon, +Mr. Macrae,’ he said, ‘but if I had that dog in my house +of Kirkburn—’ he then went out.</p> +<p>‘Lord Fastcastle is a little moved,’ said Merton. +‘He comes of a wild stock, but I never saw him like this.’</p> +<p>Mr. Macrae allowed that the circumstances were unusual.</p> +<p>A horrible thought occurred to Merton. ‘Mr. Macrae,’ +he exclaimed, ‘may I speak to you privately? Bude, I dare +say, will be kind enough to remain with that person.’</p> +<p>Mr. Macrae followed Merton into the billiard-room.</p> +<p>‘My dear sir,’ said the pallid Merton, ‘Logan and +I have made a terrible blunder! We never doubted that, if we caught +any one, our captive would be Blake. I do not deny that this man +is his accomplice, but we have literally no proof. He may persist, +if taken before a magistrate, that he is Gianesi. He may say that, +being in your employment as an electrician, he naturally entered the +smoking-room when the electric bell rang. He can easily account +for his possession of a revolver, in a place where a mysterious crime +has just been committed. As to the Highland costume, he may urge +that, like many Southrons, he had bought it to wear on a Highland tour, +and was trying it on. How can you keep him? You have no +longer the right of Pit and Gallows. Before what <!-- page 397--><span class="pagenum">p. 397</span>magistrate +can you take him, and where? The sheriff-substitute may be at +Golspie, or Tongue, or Dingwall, or I don’t know where. +What can we do? What have we against the man? “Loitering +with intent”? And here Logan and I have knocked him down, +and tied him up, and Logan wanted to torture him.’</p> +<p>‘Dear Mr. Merton,’ replied Mr. Macrae, with paternal +tenderness, ‘you are overwrought. You have not slept all +night. I must insist that you go to bed, and do not rise till +you are called. The man is certainly guilty of conspiracy, that +will be proved when the real Gianesi comes to hand. If not, I +do not doubt that I can secure his silence. You forget the power +of money. Make yourself easy, go to sleep; meanwhile I must re-establish +communications. Good-night, golden slumbers!’</p> +<p>He wrung Merton’s hand, and left him admiring the calm resolution +of one whose conversation, ‘in the mad pride of intellectuality,’ +he had recently despised. The millionaire, Merton felt, was worthy +to be his daughter’s father.</p> +<p>‘The power of money!’ mused Mr. Macrae; ‘what is +it in circumstances like mine? Surrounded by all the resources +of science, I am baffled by a clever rogue and in a civilised country +the aid of the law and the police is as remote and inaccessible as in +the Great Sahara! But to business!’</p> +<p>He sent for Benson, bade him, with some gillies, carry the prisoner +into the dungeon of the old castle, loose his bonds, place food before +him, and leave him in charge of the stalker. He informed Bude +that breakfast would be ready at eight, and then retired to his study, +where he matured his plans.</p> +<p><!-- page 398--><span class="pagenum">p. 398</span>The yacht he would +send to Lochinver to await the real Gianesi there, and to send telegrams +descriptive of Blake in all directions. Giambresi must be telegraphed +to again, and entreated to come in person, with yet another electric +machine, for that brought by the false Gianesi had been, by the same +envoy, rendered useless. A mounted man must be despatched to Lairg +to collect vehicles and transport there, and to meet the real Gianesi +if he came that way. Thus Mr. Macrae, with cool patience and forethought, +endeavoured to recover his position, happy in the reflection that treachery +had at last been eliminated. He did not forget to write telegrams +to remote sheriff-substitutes and procurators fiscal.</p> +<p>As to the kidnappers, he determined to amuse them with protracted +negotiations on the subject of his daughter’s ransom. These +would be despatched, of course, by the wireless engine which was in +tune and touch with their own. During the parleyings the wretches +might make some blunder, and Mr. Macrae could perhaps think out some +plan for their detection and capture, without risk to his daughter. +If not, he must pay ransom.</p> +<p>Having written out his orders and telegrams, Mr. Macrae went downstairs +to visit the stables. He gave his commands to his servants, and, +as he returned, he met Logan, who had been on the watch for him.</p> +<p>‘I am myself again, Mr. Macrae,’ said Logan, smiling. +‘After all, we are living in the twentieth century, not the sixteenth, +worse luck! And now can you give me your attention for a few minutes?’</p> +<p><!-- page 399--><span class="pagenum">p. 399</span>‘Willingly,’ +said Mr. Macrae, and they walked together to a point in the garden where +they were secure from being overheard.</p> +<p>‘I must ask you to lend me a horse to ride to Lairg and the +railway at once,’ said Logan.</p> +<p>‘Must you leave us? You cannot, I fear, catch the 12.50 +train south.’</p> +<p>‘I shall take a special train if I cannot catch the one I want,’ +said Logan, adding, ‘I have a scheme for baffling these miscreants +and rescuing Miss Macrae, while disappointing them of the monstrous +ransom which they are certain to claim. If you can trust me, you +will enter into protracted negotiations with them on the matter through +the wireless machine.’</p> +<p>‘That I had already determined to do,’ said the millionaire. +‘But may I inquire what is your scheme?’</p> +<p>‘Would it be asking too much to request you to let me keep +it concealed, even from you? Everything depends on the most absolute +secrecy. It must not appear that you are concerned—must +not be suspected. My plan has been suggested to me by trifling +indications which no one else has remarked. It is a plan which, +I confess, appears wild, but what is <i>not</i> wild in this unhappy +affair? Science, as a rule beneficent, has given birth to potentialities +of crime which exceed the dreams of oriental romance. But science, +like the spear of Achilles, can cure the wounds which herself inflicts.’</p> +<p>Logan spoke calmly, but eloquently, as every reader must observe. +He was no longer the fierce Border baron of an hour agone, but the polished +<!-- page 400--><span class="pagenum">p. 400</span>modern gentleman. +The millionaire marked the change.</p> +<p>‘Any further mystery cannot but be distasteful, Lord Fastcastle,’ +said Mr. Macrae.</p> +<p>‘The truth is,’ said Logan, ‘that if my plan takes +shape important persons and interests will be involved. I myself +will be involved, and, for reasons both public and private, it seems +to me to the last degree essential that you should in no way appear; +that you should be able, honestly, to profess entire ignorance. +If I fail, I give you my word of honour that your position will be in +no respect modified by my action. If I succeed—’</p> +<p>‘Then you will, indeed, be my preserver,’ said the millionaire.</p> +<p>‘Not I, but my friend, Mr. Merton,’ said Logan, ‘who, +by the way, ought to accompany me. In Mr. Merton’s genius +for success in adventures entailing a mystery more dark, and personal +dangers far greater, than those involved by my scheme (which is really +quite safe), I have confidence based on large experience. To Merton +alone I owe it that I am a married, a happy, and, speaking to any one +but yourself, I might say an affluent man. This adventure must +be achieved, if at all, <i>auspice Merton</i>.’</p> +<p>‘I also have much confidence in him, and I sincerely love him,’ +said Mr. Macrae, to the delight of Logan. He then paced silently +up and down in deep thought. ‘You say that your scheme involves +you in no personal danger?’ he asked.</p> +<p>‘In none, or only in such as men encounter daily in several +professions. Merton and I like it.’</p> +<p><!-- page 401--><span class="pagenum">p. 401</span>‘And you +will not suffer in character if you fail?’</p> +<p>‘Certainly not in character; no gentleman of my coat ever entered +on enterprise so free from moral blame,’ said Logan, ‘since +my ancestor and namesake, Sir Robert, fell at the side of the good Lord +James of Douglas, above the Heart of Bruce.’</p> +<p>He thrilled and changed colour as he spoke.</p> +<p>‘Yet it would not do for <i>me</i> to be known to be connected +with the enterprise?’ asked Mr. Macrae.</p> +<p>‘Indeed it would not! Your notorious opulence would arouse +ideas in the public mind, ideas false, indeed, but fatally compromising.’</p> +<p>‘I may not even subsidise the affair—put a million to +Mr. Merton’s account?’</p> +<p>‘In no sort! Afterwards, <i>after</i> he succeeds, then +I don’t say, if Merton will consent; but that is highly improbable. +I know my friend.’</p> +<p>Mr. Macrae sighed deeply and remained pensive. ‘Well,’ +he answered at last, ‘I accept your very gallant and generous +proposal.’</p> +<p>‘I am overjoyed!’ said Logan. He had never been +in such a big thing before.</p> +<p>‘I shall order my two best horses to be saddled after breakfast,’ +said Mr. Macrae. ‘You will bait at Inchnadampf.’</p> +<p>‘Here is my address; this will always find me,’ said +Logan, writing rapidly on a leaf of his note-book.</p> +<p>‘You will wire all news of your negotiations with the pirates +to me, by the new wireless machine, when Giambresi brings it, and his +firm in town will telegraph it on to me, at the address I gave you, +<i>in cypher</i>. To save time, we must use a book cypher, <!-- page 402--><span class="pagenum">p. 402</span>we +can settle it in the house in ten minutes,’ said Logan, now entirely +in his element.</p> +<p>They chose <i>The Bonnie Brier Bush</i>, by Mr. Ian Maclaren—a +work too popular to excite suspicion; and arranged the method of secret +correspondence with great rapidity. Logan then rushed up to Merton’s +room, hastily communicated the scheme to him, and overcame his objections, +nay, awoke in him, by his report of Mr. Macrae’s words, the hopes +of a lover. They came down to breakfast, and arranged that their +baggage should be sent after them as soon as communications were restored.</p> +<p>Merton contrived to have a brief interview with Lady Bude. +Her joyous spirit shone in her eyes.</p> +<p>‘I do not know what Lord Fastcastle’s plan is,’ +she said, ‘but I wish you good fortune. You have won the +<i>father’s</i> heart, and now I am about to be false to my sex’—she +whispered—‘the daughter’s is all but your own! +I can help you a little,’ she added, and, after warmly clasping +both her hands in his, Merton hurried to the front of the house, where +the horses stood, and sprang into the saddle. No motors, no bicycles, +no scientific vehicles to-day; the clean wind piped to him from the +mountains; a good steed was between his thighs! Logan mounted, +after entrusting Bouncer to Lady Bude, and they galloped eastwards.</p> +<h3>V. The Adventure of the Flora Macdonald</h3> +<p>‘This is the point indicated, latitude so and so, longitude +so and so,’ said Mr Macrae. ‘But I do not <!-- page 403--><span class="pagenum">p. 403</span>see +a sail or a funnel on the western horizon. Nothing since we left +the Fleet behind us, far to the East. Yet it is the hour. +It is strange!’</p> +<p>Mr. Macrae was addressing Bude. They stood together on the +deck of the <i>Flora Macdonald</i>, the vast yacht of the millionaire. +She was lying to on a sea as glassy and radiant, under a blazing August +sun, as the Atlantic can show in her mildest moods. On the quarter-deck +of the yacht were piled great iron boxes containing the millions in +gold with which the millionaire had at last consented to ransom his +daughter. He had been negotiating with her captors through the +wireless machine, and, as Logan could not promise any certain release, +Mr. Macrae had finally surrendered, while informing Logan of the circumstances +and details of his rendezvous with the kidnappers. The amassing +of the gold had shaken the exchanges of two worlds. Banks trembled, +rates were enormous, but the precious metal had been accumulated. +The pirates would not take Mr. Macrae’s cheque; bank notes they +laughed at, the millions must be paid in gold. Now at last the +gold was on the spot of ocean indicated by the kidnappers, but there +was no sign of sail or ship, no promise of their coming. Men with +telescopes in the rigging of the <i>Flora</i> were on the outlook in +vain. They could pick up one of the floating giants of our fleet, +far off to the East, but North, West and South were empty wastes of +water.</p> +<p>‘Three o’clock has come and gone. I hope there +has been no accident,’ said Mr. Macrae nervously. ‘But +where are those thieves?’ He absently pressed his repeater, +it tingled out the half-hour.</p> +<p><!-- page 404--><span class="pagenum">p. 404</span>‘It <i>is</i> +odd,’ said Bude. ‘Hullo, look there, what’s +<i>that</i>?’</p> +<p><i>That</i> was a slim spar, which suddenly shot from the plain of +ocean, at a distance of a hundred yards. On its apex a small black +hood twisted itself this way and that like a living thing; so tranquil +was the hour that the spar with its dull hood was distinctly reflected +in the mirror-like waters of the ocean.</p> +<p>‘By gad, it is the periscope of a submarine!’ said Bude.</p> +<p>There could not be a doubt of it. The invention of Napier of +Merchistoun and of M. Jules Verne, now at last an actual engine of human +warfare, had been employed by the kidnappers of the daughter of the +millionaire!</p> +<p>A light flashed on the mind, steady and serviceable, but not brilliantly +ingenious, of Mr. Macrae. ‘This,’ he exclaimed rather +superfluously, ‘accounts for the fiendish skill with which these +miscreants took cover when pursued by the Marine Police. <i>This</i> +explains the subtle art with which they dodged observation. Doubtless +they had always, somewhere, a well-found normal yacht containing their +supplies. Do you not agree with me, my lord?’</p> +<p>‘In my opinion,’ said Bude, ‘you have satisfactorily +explained what has so long puzzled us. But look! The periscope, +having reconnoitred us, is sinking again!’</p> +<p>It was true. The slim spar gracefully descended to the abyss. +Again ocean smiled with innumerable laughters (as the Athenian sings), +smiled, empty, azure, effulgent! The <i>Flora Macdonald</i> was +once more alone on a wide, wide sea!</p> +<p><!-- page 405--><span class="pagenum">p. 405</span>Two slight jars +were now just felt by the owner, skipper, and crew of the <i>Flora Macdonald</i>. +‘What’s that?’ asked Mr. Macrae sharply. ‘A +reef?’</p> +<p>‘In my opinion,’ said the captain, ‘the beggars +in the submarine have torpedoed us. Attached torpedoes to our +keel, sir,’ he explained, respectfully touching his cap and shifting +the quid in his cheek. He was a bluff tar of the good old school.</p> +<p>‘Merciful heavens!’ exclaimed Mr. Macrae, his face paling. +‘What can this new outrage mean? Here on our deck is the +gold; if they explode their torpedoes the bullion sinks to join the +exhaustless treasures of the main!’</p> +<p>‘A bit of bluff and blackmail on their part I fancy,’ +said Bude, lighting a cigarette.</p> +<p>‘No doubt! No doubt!’ said Mr. Macrae, rather unsteadily. +‘They would never be such fools as to blow up the millions. +Still, an accident might have awful results.’</p> +<p>‘Look there, sir, if you please,’ said the captain of +the <i>Flora Macdonald</i>, ‘there’s that spar of theirs +up again.’</p> +<p>It was so. The spar, the periscope, shot up on the larboard +side of the yacht. After it had reconnoitred, the mirror of ocean +was stirred into dazzling circling waves, and the deck of a submarine +slowly emerged. The deck was long and flat, and of a much larger +area than submarines in general have. It would seem to indicate +the presence below the water of a body or hull of noble proportions. +A voice hailed the yacht from the submarine, though no speaker was visible.</p> +<p><!-- page 406--><span class="pagenum">p. 406</span>‘You have +no consort?’ the voice yelled.</p> +<p>‘For ten years I have been a widower,’ replied Mr. Macrae, +his voice trembling with emotion.</p> +<p>‘Most sorry to have unintentionally awakened unavailing regrets,’ +came the voice. ‘But I mean, honour bright, you have no +attendant armed vessel?’</p> +<p>‘None, I promised you so,’ said Mr. Macrae; ‘I +am a man of my word. Come on deck if you doubt me and look for +yourself.’</p> +<p>‘Not me, and get shot by a rifleman,’ said the voice.</p> +<p>‘It is very distressing to be distrusted in this manner,’ +replied Mr. Macrae. ‘Captain McClosky,’ he said to +the skipper, ‘pray request all hands to oblige me by going below.’</p> +<p>The captain issued this order, which the yacht’s crew rather +reluctantly obeyed. Their interest and curiosity were strongly +excited by a scene without precedent in the experience of the oldest +mariner.</p> +<p>When they had disappeared Mr. Macrae again addressed the invisible +owner of the voice. ‘All my crew are below. Nobody +is on deck but Captain McClosky, the Earl of Bude, and myself. +We are entirely unarmed. You can see for yourself.’ <a name="citation406"></a><a href="#footnote406">{406}</a></p> +<p>The owner of the voice replied: ‘You have no torpedoes?’</p> +<p>‘We have only the armament agreed upon by you to protect this +immense mass of bullion from the attacks of the unscrupulous,’ +said Mr. Macrae. ‘I take heaven to witness that I am honourably +observing <!-- page 407--><span class="pagenum">p. 407</span>every article +of our agreement, as <i>per</i> yours of August 21.’</p> +<p>‘All right,’ answered the voice. ‘I dare +say you are honest. But I may as well tell you <i>this</i>, that +while passing under your yacht we attached two slabs of gun-cotton to +her keel. The knob connected with them is under my hand. +We placed them where they are, not necessarily for publication—explosion, +I mean—but merely as a guarantee of good faith. You understand?’</p> +<p>‘Perfectly,’ said Mr. Macrae, ‘though I regard +your proceeding as a fresh and unmerited insult.’</p> +<p>‘Merely a precaution usual in business,’ said the voice. +‘And now,’ it went on, ‘for the main transaction. +You will lower your gold into boats, row it across, and land it here +on my deck. When it is all there, <i>and</i> has been inspected +by me, you will send one boat rowed by <i>two men only</i>, into which +Miss Macrae shall be placed and sent back to you. When that has +been done we shall part, I hope, on friendly terms and with mutual respect.’</p> +<p>‘Captain McClosky,’ said Mr. Macrae, ‘will you +kindly pipe all hands on board to discharge cargo?’ The +captain obeyed.</p> +<p>Mr. Macrae turned to Bude. ‘This is a moment,’ +he said, ‘which tries a father’s heart! Presently +I must see Emmeline, hear her voice, clasp her to my breast.’ +Bude mutely wrung the hand of the millionaire, and turned away to conceal +his emotion. Seldom, perhaps never, has a father purchased back +an only and beloved child at such a cost as Mr. Macrae was now paying +without a murmur.</p> +<p><!-- page 408--><span class="pagenum">p. 408</span>The boats of the +<i>Flora Macdonald</i> were lowered and manned, the winches slowly swung +each huge box of the precious metal aboard the boats. Mr. Macrae +entrusted the keys of the gold-chests to his officers.</p> +<p>‘Remember,’ cried the voice from the submarine, ‘we +must have the gold on board, inspected, and weighed, before we return +Miss Macrae.’</p> +<p>‘Mean to the last,’ whispered the millionaire to the +earl; but aloud he only said, ‘Very well; I regret, for your own +sake, your suspicious character, but, in the circumstances, I have no +choice.’</p> +<p>To Bude he added: ‘This is terrible! When he has secured +the bullion he may submerge his submarine and go off without returning +my daughter.’</p> +<p>This was so manifestly true that Bude could only shake his head and +mutter something about ‘honour among thieves.’</p> +<p>The crew got the gold on board the boats, and, after several journeys, +had the boxes piled on the deck of the submarine.</p> +<p>When they had placed the boxes on board they again retired, and one +of the men of the submarine, who seemed to be in command, and wore a +mask, coolly weighed the glittering metal on the deck, returning each +package, after weighing and inspection, to its coffer. The process +was long and tedious; at length it was completed.</p> +<p>Then at last the form of Miss Macrae, in an elegant and tasteful +yachting costume, appeared on the deck of the submarine. The boat’s +crew of the <i>Flora Macdonald</i> (to whom she was endeared) lifted +their oars and cheered. The masked pirate in command <!-- page 409--><span class="pagenum">p. 409</span>handed +her into a boat of the <i>Flora’s</i> with stately courtesy, placing +in her hand a bouquet of the rarest orchids. He then placed his +hand on his heart, and bowed with a grace remarkable in one of his trade. +This man was no common desperado.</p> +<p>The crew pulled off, and at that moment, to the horror of all who +were on the <i>Flora’s</i> deck, two slight jars again thrilled +through her from stem to stern.</p> +<p>Mr. Macrae and Bude gazed on each other with ashen faces. What +had occurred? But still the boat’s crew pulled gallantly +towards the <i>Flora</i>, and, in a few moments, Miss Macrae stepped +on deck, and was in her father’s arms. It was a scene over +which art cannot linger. Self-restraint was thrown to the winds; +the father and child acted as if no eyes were regarding them. +Miss Macrae sobbed convulsively, her sire was shaken by long-pent emotion. +Bude had averted his gaze, he looked towards the submarine, on the deck +of which the crew were busy, beginning to lower the bullion into the +interior.</p> +<p>To Bude’s extreme and speechless amazement, another periscope +arose from ocean at about fifty yards from the further side of the submarine! +Bude spoke no word; the father and daughter were absorbed in each other; +the crew had no eyes but for them.</p> +<p>Presently, unmarked by the busy seamen of the hostile submarine, +the platform and look-out hood of <i>another</i> submarine appeared. +The new boat seemed to be pointing directly for the middle of the hostile +submarine and at right angles to it.</p> +<p><!-- page 410--><span class="pagenum">p. 410</span>‘<i>Hands +up</i>!’ pealed a voice from the second submarine.</p> +<p>It was the voice of Merton!</p> +<p>At the well-known sound Miss Macrae tore herself from her father’s +embrace and hurried below. She deemed that a fond illusion of +the senses had beguiled her.</p> +<p>Mr. Macrae looked wildly towards the two submarines.</p> +<p>The masked captain of the hostile vessel, leaping up, shook his fist +at the <i>Flora Macdonald</i> and yelled, ‘Damn your foolish treachery, +you money-grubbing hunks! You <i>have</i> a consort.’</p> +<p>‘I assure you that nobody is more surprised than myself,’ +cried Mr. Macrae.</p> +<p>‘One minute more and you, your ship, and your crew will be +sent to your own place!’ yelled the masked captain.</p> +<p>He vanished below, doubtless to explode the mines under the <i>Flora</i>.</p> +<p>Bude crossed himself; Mr. Macrae, folding his arms, stood calm and +defiant on his deck. One sailor (the cook) leaped overboard in +terror, the others hastily drew themselves up in a double line, to die +like Britons.</p> +<p>A minute passed, a minute charged with terror. Mr. Macrae took +out his watch to mark the time. Another minute passed, and no +explosion.</p> +<p>The captain of the pirate vessel reappeared on her deck. He +cast his hands desperately abroad; his curses, happily, were unheard +by Miss Macrae, who was below.</p> +<p><!-- page 411--><span class="pagenum">p. 411</span>‘Hands up!’ +again rang out the voice of Merton, adding, ‘if you begin to submerge +your craft, if she stirs an inch, I send you skyward at least as a preliminary +measure. My diver has detached your mines from the keel of the +<i>Flora Macdonald</i> and has cut the wires leading to them; my bow-tube +is pointing directly for you, if I press the switch the torpedo must +go home, and then heaven have mercy on your souls!’</p> +<p>A crow of laughter arose from the yachtsmen of the <i>Flora Macdonald</i>, +who freely launched terms of maritime contempt at the crew of the pirate +submarine, with comments on the probable future of the souls to which +Merton had alluded.</p> +<p>On his desk the masked captain stood silent. ‘We have +women on board!’ he answered Merton at last.</p> +<p>‘You may lower them in a collapsible boat, if you have one,’ +answered Merton. ‘But, on the faintest suspicion of treachery—the +faintest surmise, mark you, I switch on my torpedo.’</p> +<p>‘What are your terms?’ asked the pirate captain.</p> +<p>‘The return of the bullion, that is all,’ replied the +voice of Merton. ‘I give you two minutes to decide.’</p> +<p>Before a minute and a half had passed the masked captain had capitulated. +‘I climb down,’ he said.</p> +<p>‘The boats of the <i>Flora</i> will come for it,’ said +Merton; ‘your men will help load it in the boats. Look sharp, +and be civil, or I blow you out of the water!’</p> +<p>The pirates had no choice; rapidly, if sullenly, they effected the +transfer.</p> +<p><!-- page 412--><span class="pagenum">p. 412</span>When all was done, +when the coffers had been hoisted aboard the <i>Flora Macdonald</i>, +Merton, for the first time, hailed the yacht.</p> +<p>‘Will you kindly send a boat round here for me, Mr. Macrae, +if you do not object to my joining you on the return voyage?’</p> +<p>Mr. Macrae shouted a welcome, the yacht’s crew cheered as only +Britons can. Mr. Macrae’s piper struck up the march of the +clan, ‘<i>A’ the wild McCraws are coming</i>!’</p> +<p>‘If any of you scoundrels shoot,’ cried Merton to his +enemies, ‘up you will all go. You shall stay here, after +we depart, in front of that torpedo, just as long as the skipper of +my vessel pleases.’</p> +<p>Meanwhile the boat of the <i>Flora</i> approached the friendly submarine; +Merton stepped aboard, and soon was on the deck of the <i>Flora Macdonald</i>.</p> +<p>Mr. Macrae welcomed him with all the joy of a father re-united to +his daughter, of a capitalist restored to his millions.</p> +<p>Bude shook Merton’s hand warmly, exclaiming, ‘Well played, +old boy!’</p> +<p>Merton’s eyes eagerly searched the deck for one beloved form. +Mr. Macrae drew him aside. ‘Emmeline is below,’ he +whispered; ‘you will find her in the saloon.’ Merton +looked steadfastly at the millionaire, who smiled with unmistakable +meaning. The lover hurried down the companion, while the <i>Flora</i>, +which had rapidly got up steam, sped eastward.</p> +<p>Merton entered the saloon, his heart beating as hard as when he had +sought his beloved among the <!-- page 413--><span class="pagenum">p. 413</span>bracken +beneath the cliffs at Castle Skrae. She rose at his entrance; +their eyes met, Merton’s dim with a supreme doubt, Emmeline’s +frank and clear. A blush rose divinely over the white rose of +her face, her lips curved in the resistless Æginetan smile, and, +without a word spoken, the twain were in each other’s arms.</p> +<p>* * * * * *</p> +<p>Half an hour later Mr. Macrae, heralding his arrival with a sonorous +hem! entered the saloon. Smiling, he embraced his daughter, who +hid her head on his ample shoulder, while with his right hand the father +grasped that of Merton.</p> +<p>‘My daughter is restored to me—and my son,’ said +the millionaire softly.</p> +<p>There was silence. Mr. Macrae was the first to recover his +self-possession. ‘Sit down, dear,’ he said, gently +disengaging Emmeline, ‘and tell me all about it. Who were +the wretches? I can forgive them now.’</p> +<p>Miss Macrae’s eyes were bent on the carpet; she seemed reluctant +to speak. At last, in timid and faltering accents, she whispered, +‘It was the Van Huytens boy.’</p> +<p>‘Rudolph Van Huytens! I might have guessed it,’ +cried the millionaire. ‘His motive is too plain! His +wealth did not equal mine by several millions. The ransom which +he demanded, and but for Tom here’ (he indicated Merton) ‘would +now possess, exactly reversed our relative positions. Carrying +on his father’s ambition, he would, but for Tom, have held the +world’s record for opulence. The villain!’</p> +<p>‘You do not flatter <i>me</i>, father,’ said Miss Macrae, +<!-- page 414--><span class="pagenum">p. 414</span>‘and you are +unjust to Mr. Van Huytens. He had another, <i>he</i> said a stronger, +motive. Me!’ she murmured, blushing like a red rose, and +adding, ‘he really was rather nice. The submarine was comfy; +the yacht delightful. His sisters and his aunt were very kind. +But—’ and the beautiful girl looked up archly and shyly +at Merton.</p> +<p>‘In fact if it had not been for Tom,’ Mr. Macrae was +exclaiming, when Emmeline laid her lily hand on his lips, and again +hid her burning blushes on his shoulder.</p> +<p>‘So Rudolph had no chance?’ asked Mr. Macrae gaily.</p> +<p>‘I used rather to like him, long ago—before—’ +murmured Emmeline.</p> +<p>A thrill of happy pride passed through Merton. He also, he +remembered of old, had thought that he loved. But now he privately +registered an oath that he would never make any confessions as to the +buried past (a course which the chronicler earnestly recommends to young +readers).</p> +<p>‘Now tell us all about your adventures, Emmie,’ said +Mr. Macrae, sitting down and taking his daughter’s hand in his +own.</p> +<p>The narrative may have been anticipated. After Blake was felled, +Miss Macrae, screaming and struggling, had been carried to the boat. +The crew had rapidly pulled round the cliff, the submarine had risen, +to the captive’s horrified amazement, from the deep, she had been +taken on board, and, yet more to her surprise, had been welcomed by +the Misses Van Huytens and their aunt. The brother had always +<!-- page 415--><span class="pagenum">p. 415</span>behaved with respect, +till, finding that his suit was hopeless, he had avoided her presence +as much as possible, and—</p> +<p>‘Had gone for the dollars,’ said Macrae.</p> +<p>They had wandered from rocky desert isle to desert isle, in the archipelago +of the Hebrides, meeting at night with a swift attendant yacht. +Usually they had slept on shore under canvas; the corrugated iron houses +had been left behind at ‘The Seven Hunters,’ with the champagne, +to alleviate the anxiety of Mr. Macrae. Ample supplies of costume +and other necessaries for Miss Macrae had always been at hand.</p> +<p>‘They really did me very well,’ she said, smiling, ‘but +I was miserable about <i>you</i>,’ and she embraced her father.</p> +<p>‘Only about <i>me</i>?’ asked Mr. Macrae.</p> +<p>‘I did not know, I was not sure,’ said Emmeline, crying +a little, and laughing rather hysterically.</p> +<p>‘You go and lie down, my dear,’ said Mr. Macrae. +‘Your maid is in your cabin,’ and thither he conducted the +overwrought girl, Merton anxiously following her with his eyes.</p> +<p>‘We are neglecting Lord Bude,’ said Mr. Macrae. +‘Come on deck, Tom, and tell us how you managed that delightful +surprise.’</p> +<p>‘Oh, pardon me, sir,’ said Merton, ‘I am under +oath, I am solemnly bound to Logan and others never to reveal the circumstances. +It was necessary to keep you uninformed, that you might honourably make +your arrangement to meet Mr. Van Huytens without being aware that you +had a submarine consort. Logan takes any dishonour on himself, +and he wished <!-- page 416--><span class="pagenum">p. 416</span>to +offer Mr. Van Huytens—as that is his name—every satisfaction, +but I dissuaded him. His connection with the affair cannot be +kept too secret. Though Logan put me forward, you really owe all +to <i>him</i>.’</p> +<p>‘But without <i>you</i>, I should never have had his aid,’ +said Mr. Macrae: ‘Where <i>is</i> Lord Fastcastle?’ he asked.</p> +<p>‘In the friendly submarine,’ said Merton.</p> +<p>‘Oh, I think I can guess!’ said Mr. Macrae, smiling. +‘I shall ask no more questions. Let us join Lord Bude.’</p> +<p>If the reader is curious as to how the rescue was managed, it is +enough to say that Logan was the cousin and intimate friend of Admiral +Chirnside, that the Admiral was commanding a fleet engaged in naval +manœuvres around the North coast, that he had a flotilla of submarines, +and that the point of ocean where the pirates met the <i>Flora Macdonald</i> +was not far west of the Orkneys.</p> +<p>On deck Bude asked Merton how Logan (for he knew that Logan was the +guiding spirit) had guessed the secret of the submarine.</p> +<p>‘Do you remember,’ said Merton, ‘that when you +came back from “The Seven Hunters,” you reported that the +fishermen had a silly story of seeing a dragon flying above the empty +sea?’</p> +<p>‘I remember, <i>un dragon volant</i>,’ said Bude.</p> +<p>‘And Logan asked you not to tell Mr. Macrae?’</p> +<p>‘Yes, but I don’t understand.’</p> +<p>‘A dragon is the Scotch word for a kite—not the bird—a +boy’s kite. You did not know; <i>I</i> did not know, but +Mr. Macrae would have known, being a <!-- page 417--><span class="pagenum">p. 417</span>Scot, +and Logan wanted to keep his plan dark, and the kite had let him into +the secret of the submarine.’</p> +<p>‘I still don’t see how.’</p> +<p>‘Why the submarine must have been flying a kite, with a pendent +wire, to catch messages from Blake and the wireless machine at Castle +Skrae. How else could a kite—“a dragon,” the +sailor said—have been flying above the empty sea?’</p> +<p>‘Logan is rather sharp,’ said Bude.</p> +<p>‘But, Mr. Macrae,’ asked Merton, ‘how about the +false Gianesi?’</p> +<p>‘Oh, when Gianesi came of course we settled <i>his</i> business. +We had him tight, as a conspirator. He had been met, when expelled +for misdeeds from Gianesi’s and Giambresi’s, by a beautiful +young man, to whom he sold himself. He believed the beautiful +young man to be the devil, but, of course, it was our friend Blake. +<i>He</i>, in turn, must have been purchased by Van Huytens while he +was lecturing in America as a poet-Fenian. In fact, he really +had a singular genius for electric engineering; he had done very well +at some German university. But he was a fellow of no principle! +We are well quit of a rogue. I turned his unlucky victim, the +false Gianesi, loose, with money enough for life to keep him honest +if he chooses. His pension stops if ever a word of the method +of rescue comes out. The same with my crew. They shall all +be rich men, for their station, <i>till</i> the tale is whispered and +reaches my ears. In that case—all pensions stop. I +think we can trust the crew of the friendly submarine to keep their +own counsel.’</p> +<p><!-- page 418--><span class="pagenum">p. 418</span>‘Certainly!’ +said Merton. ‘Wealth has its uses after all,’ he thought +in his heart.</p> +<p>* * * * * *</p> +<p>Merton and Logan gave a farewell dinner in autumn to the Disentanglers—to +such of them as were still unmarried. In her napkin each lady +of the Society found a cheque on Coutts for 25,000<i>l</i>. signed with +the magic name Ronald Macrae.</p> +<p>The millionaire had insisted on being allowed to perform this act +of munificence, the salvage for the recovered millions, he said.</p> +<p>Miss Martin, after dinner, carried Mr. Macrae’s health in a +toast. In a humorous speech she announced her own approaching +nuptials, and intimated that she had the permission of the other ladies +present to make the same general confession for all of them.</p> +<p>‘Like every novel of my own,’ said Miss Martin, smiling, +‘this enterprise of the Disentanglers has a HAPPY ENDING.’</p> +<h2>Footnotes:</h2> +<p><a name="footnote232"></a><a href="#citation232">{232}</a> +Part III. No. I, 1896. Baptist Mission Press. Calcutta, +1897.</p> +<p><a name="footnote242"></a><a href="#citation242">{242}</a> +See also Monsieur Henri Junod, in <i>Les Ba-Ronga</i>. Attinger, +Neuchatel, 1898. Unlike Mr. Skertchley, M. Junod has not himself +seen the creature.</p> +<p><a name="footnote406"></a><a href="#citation406">{406}</a> +Periscope not necessary with conning tower out of water. Man could +see out of port.</p> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DISENTANGLERS***</p> +<pre> + + +***** This file should be named 17031-h.htm or 17031-h.zip****** + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/7/0/3/17031 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: The Disentanglers + + +Author: Andrew Lang + + + +Release Date: November 8, 2005 [eBook #17031] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DISENTANGLERS*** + + + +Transcribed from the 1903 Longmans, Green, and Co. edition by David +Price, email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk + + + + + +THE DISENTANGLERS +by Andrew Lang + + +with illustrations by H. J. Ford + +_Second Impression_ + +Longmans, Green, and Co. +39 Paternoster Row, London +New York and Bombay +1903 + +TO HERBERT HILLS, ESQ. +These Studies +OF LIFE AND CHARACTER +_ARE DEDICATED_ + + + + +PREFACE + + +It has been suggested to the Author that the incident of the Berbalangs, +in The Adventure of the Fair American, is rather improbable. He can only +refer the sceptical to the perfectly genuine authorities cited in his +footnotes. + + + + +I. THE GREAT IDEA + + +The scene was a dusky shabby little room in Ryder Street. To such caves +many repair whose days are passed, and whose food is consumed, in the +clubs of the adjacent thoroughfare of cooperative palaces, Pall Mall. The +furniture was battered and dingy; the sofa on which Logan sprawled had a +certain historic interest: it was covered with cloth of horsehair, now +seldom found by the amateur. A bookcase with glass doors held a crowd of +books to which the amateur would at once have flown. They were in +'boards' of faded blue, and the paper labels bore alluring names: they +were all First Editions of the most desirable kind. The bottles in the +liqueur case were antique; a coat of arms, not undistinguished, was in +relief on the silver stoppers. But the liquors in the flasks were humble +and conventional. Merton, the tenant of the rooms, was in a Zingari +cricketing coat; he occupied the arm-chair, while Logan, in evening +dress, maintained a difficult equilibrium on the slippery sofa. Both men +were of an age between twenty-five and twenty-nine, both were pleasant to +the eye. Merton was, if anything, under the middle height: fair, slim, +and active. As a freshman he had coxed his College Eight, later he rowed +Bow in that vessel. He had won the Hurdles, but been beaten by his +Cambridge opponent; he had taken a fair second in Greats, was believed to +have been 'runner up' for the Newdigate prize poem, and might have won +other laurels, but that he was found to do the female parts very fairly +in the dramatic performances of the University, a thing irreconcilable +with study. His father was a rural dean. Merton's most obvious vice was +a thirst for general information. 'I know it is awfully bad form to know +anything,' he had been heard to say, 'but everyone has his failings, and +mine is occasionally useful.' + +Logan was tall, dark, athletic and indolent. He was, in a way, the last +of an historic Scottish family, and rather fond of discoursing on the +ancestral traditions. But any satisfaction that he derived from them +was, so far, all that his birth had won for him. His little patrimony +had taken to itself wings. Merton was in no better case. Both, as they +sat together, were gloomily discussing their prospects. + +In the penumbra of smoke, and the malignant light of an ill trimmed lamp, +the Great Idea was to be evolved. What consequences hung on the Great +Idea! The peace of families insured, at a trifling premium. Innocence +rescued. The defeat of the subtlest criminal designers: undreamed of +benefits to natural science! But I anticipate. We return to the +conversation in the Ryder Street den. + +'It is a case of emigration or the workhouse,' said Logan. + +'Emigration! What can you or I do in the Colonies? They provide even +their own ushers. My only available assets, a little Greek and less +Latin, are drugs in the Melbourne market,' answered Merton; 'they breed +their own dominies. Protection!' + +'In America they might pay for lessons in the English accent . . . ' said +Logan. + +'But not,' said Merton, 'in the Scotch, which is yours; oh distant cousin +of a marquis! Consequently by rich American lady pupils "you are not one +to be desired."' + +'Tommy, you are impertinent,' said Logan. 'Oh, hang it, where is there +an opening, a demand, for the broken, the stoney broke? A man cannot +live by casual paragraphs alone.' + +'And these generally reckoned "too high-toned for our readers,"' said +Merton. + +'If I could get the secretaryship of a golf club!' Logan sighed. + +'If you could get the Chancellorship of the Exchequer! I reckon that +there are two million applicants for secretaryships of golf clubs.' + +'Or a land agency,' Logan murmured. + +'Oh, be practical!' cried Merton. 'Be inventive! Be modern! Be up to +date! Think of something _new_! Think of a felt want, as the +Covenanting divine calls it: a real public need, hitherto but dimly +present, and quite a demand without a supply.' + +'But that means thousands in advertisements,' said Logan, 'even if we ran +a hair-restorer. The ground bait is too expensive. I say, I once knew a +fellow who ground-baited for salmon with potted shrimps.' + +'Make a paragraph on him then,' said Merton. + +'But results proved that there was no felt want of potted shrimps--or not +of a fly to follow.' + +'Your collaboration in the search, the hunt for money, the quest, +consists merely in irrelevancies and objections,' growled Merton, +lighting a cigarette. + +'Lucky devil, Peter Nevison. Meets an heiress on a Channel boat, with +4,000_l_. a year; and there he is.' Logan basked in the reflected +sunshine. + +'Cut by her people, though--and other people. I could not have faced the +row with her people,' said Merton musingly. + +'I don't wonder they moved heaven and earth, and her uncle, the bishop, +to stop it. Not eligible, Peter was not, however you took him,' Logan +reflected. 'Took too much of this,' he pointed to the heraldic flask. + +'Well, _she_ took him. It is not much that parents, still less +guardians, can do now, when a girl's mind is made up.' + +'The emancipation of woman is the opportunity of the indigent male +struggler. Women have their way,' Logan reflected. + +'And the youth of the modern aged is the opportunity of our sisters, the +girls "on the make,"' said Merton. 'What a lot of old men of title are +marrying young women as hard up as we are!' + +'And then,' said Logan, 'the offspring of the deceased marchionesses make +a fuss. In fact marriage is always the signal for a family row.' + +'It is the infernal family row that I never could face. I had a chance--' + +Merton seemed likely to drop into autobiography. + +'I know,' said Logan admonishingly. + +'Well, hanged if I could take it, and she--she could not stand it either, +and both of us--' + +'Do not be elegiac,' interrupted Logan. 'I know. Still, I am rather +sorry for people's people. The unruly affections simply poison the lives +of parents and guardians, aye, and of the children too. The aged are now +so hasty and imprudent. What would not Tala have given to prevent his +Grace from marrying Mrs. Tankerville?' + +Merton leapt to his feet and smote his brow. + +'Wait, don't speak to me--a great thought flushes all my brain. Hush! I +have it,' and he sat down again, pouring seltzer water into a half empty +glass. + +'Have what?' asked Logan. + +'The Felt Want. But the accomplices?' + +'But the advertisements!' suggested Logan. + +'A few pounds will cover _them_. I can sell my books,' Merton sighed. + +'A lot of advertising your first editions will pay for. Why, even to +launch a hair-restorer takes--' + +'Oh, but,' Merton broke in, '_this_ want is so widely felt, acutely felt +too: hair is not in it. But where are the accomplices?' + +'If it is gentleman burglars I am not concerned. No Raffles for me! If +it is venal physicians to kill off rich relations, the lives of the +Logans are sacred to me.' + +'Bosh!' said Merton, 'I want "lady friends," as Tennyson says: nice +girls, well born, well bred, trying to support themselves.' + +'What do you want _them_ for? To support them?' + +'I want them as accomplices,' said Merton. 'As collaborators.' + +'Blackmail?' asked Logan. 'Has it come to this? I draw the line at +blackmail. Besides, they would starve first, good girls would; or marry +Lord Methusalem, or a beastly South African _richard_.' + +'Robert Logan of Restalrig, that should be'--Merton spoke +impressively--'you know me to be incapable of practices, however +lucrative, which involve taint of crime. I do not prey upon the society +which I propose to benefit. But where are the girls?' + +'Where are they not?' Logan asked. 'Dawdling, as jesters, from country +house to country house. In the British Museum, verifying references for +literary gents, if they can get references to verify. Asking leave to +describe their friends' parties in _The Leidy's News_. Trying for places +as golfing governesses, or bridge governesses, or gymnastic mistresses at +girls' schools, or lady laundresses, or typewriters, or lady teachers of +cookery, or pegs to hang costumes on at dress-makers'. The most +beautiful girl I ever saw was doing that once; I met her when I was +shopping with my aunt who left her money to the Armenians.' + +'You kept up her acquaintance? The girl's, I mean,' Merton asked. + +'We have occasionally met. In fact--' + +'Yes, I know, as you said lately,' Merton remarked. 'That's one, anyhow, +and there is Mary Willoughby, who got a second in history when I was up. +_She_ would do. Better business for her than the British Museum. I know +three or four.' + +'I know five or six. But what for?' Logan insisted. + +'To help us in supplying the widely felt want, which is my discovery,' +said Merton. + +'And that is?' + +'Disentanglers--of both sexes. A large and varied staff, calculated to +meet every requirement and cope with every circumstance.' Merton quoted +an unwritten prospectus. + +'I don't follow. What the deuce is your felt want?' + +'What we were talking about.' + +'Ground bait for salmon?' Logan reverted to his idea. + +'No. Family rows about marriages. Nasty letters. Refusals to recognise +the choice of a son, a daughter, or a widowed but youthful old parent, +among the upper classes. Harsh words. Refusals to allow meetings or +correspondence. Broken hearts. Improvident marriages. Preaching down a +daughter's heart, or an aged parent's heart, or a nephew's, or a niece's, +or a ward's, or anybody's heart. Peace restored to the household. +Intended marriage off, and nobody a penny the worse, unless--' + +'Unless what?' said Logan. + +'Practical difficulties,' said Merton, 'will occur in every enterprise. +But they won't be to our disadvantage, the reverse--if they don't happen +too often. And we can guard against _that_ by a scientific process.' + +'Now will you explain,' Logan asked, 'or shall I pour this whisky and +water down the back of your neck?' + +He rose to his feet, menace in his eye. + +'Bear fighting barred! We are no longer boys. We are men--broken men. +Sit down, don't play the bear,' said Merton. + +'Well, explain, or I fire!' + +'Don't you see? The problem for the family, for hundreds of families, is +to get the undesirable marriage off without the usual row. Very few +people really like a row. Daughter becomes anaemic; foreign cures are +expensive and no good. Son goes to the Devil or the Cape. Aged and +opulent, but amorous, parent leaves everything he can scrape together to +disapproved of new wife. Relations cut each other all round. Not many +people really enjoy that kind of thing. They want a pacific +solution--marriage off, no remonstrances.' + +'And how are you going to do it?' + +'Why,' said Merton, 'by a scientific and thoroughly organised system of +disengaging or disentangling. We enlist a lot of girls and fellows like +ourselves, beautiful, attractive, young, or not so young, well connected, +intellectual, athletic, and of all sorts of types, but all _broke_, all +without visible means of subsistence. They are people welcome in country +houses, but travelling third class, and devilishly perplexed about how to +tip the servants, how to pay if they lose at bridge, and so forth. We +enlist them, we send them out on demand, carefully selecting our agents +to meet the circumstances in each case. They go down and disentangle the +amorous by--well, by entangling them. The lovers are off with the old +love, the love which causes all the worry, without being on with the new +love--our agent. The thing quietly fizzles out.' + +'Quietly!' Logan snorted. 'I like "quietly." They would be on with the +new love. Don't you see, you born gomeral, that the person, man or +woman, who deserts the inconvenient A.--I put an A. B. case--falls in +love with your agent B., and your B. is, by the nature of the thing, more +ineligible than A.--too poor. A babe could see that. You disappoint me, +Merton.' + +'You state,' said Merton, 'one of the practical difficulties which I +foresaw. Not that it does not suit _us_ very well. Our comrade and +friend, man or woman, gets a chance of a good marriage, and, Logan, there +is no better thing. But parents and guardians would not stand much of +that: of people marrying our agents.' + +'Of course they wouldn't. Your idea is crazy.' + +'Wait a moment,' said Merton. 'The resources of science are not yet +exhausted. You have heard of the epoch-making discovery of Jenner, and +its beneficent results in checking the ravages of smallpox, that scourge +of the human race?' + +'Oh don't talk like a printed book,' Logan remonstrated. 'Everybody has +heard of vaccination.' + +'And you are aware that similar prophylactic measures have been adopted, +with more or less of success, in the case of other diseases?' + +'I am aware,' said Logan, 'that you are in danger of personal suffering +at my hands, as I already warned you.' + +'What is love but a disease?' Merton asked dreamily. 'A French _savant_, +Monsieur Janet, says that nobody ever falls in love except when he is a +little bit off colour: I forget the French equivalent.' + +'I am coming for you,' Logan arose in wrath. + +'Sit down. Well, your objection (which it did not need the eyes of an +Argus to discover) is that the patients, the lovers young, whose loves +are disapproved of by the family, will fall in love with our agents, +insist on marrying _them_, and so the last state of these afflicted +parents--or children--will be worse than the first. Is that your +objection?' + +'Of course it is; and crushing at that,' Logan replied. + +'Then science suggests prophylactic measures: something akin to +vaccination,' Merton explained. 'The agents must be warranted "immune." +Nice new word!' + +'How?' + +'The object,' Merton answered, 'is to make it impossible, or highly +improbable, that our agents, after disentangling the affections of the +patients, curing them of one attack, will accept their addresses, offered +in a second fit of the fever. In brief, the agents must not marry the +patients, or not often.' + +'But how can you prevent them if they want to do it?' + +'By a process akin, in the emotional region of our strangely blended +nature, to inoculation.' + +'Hanged if I understand you. You keep on repeating yourself. You +dodder!' + +'Our agents must have got the disease already, the pretty fever; and be +safe against infection. There must be on the side of the agent a prior +attachment. Now, don't interrupt, there always _is_ a prior attachment. +You are in love, I am in love, he, she, and they, all of the broken +brigade, are in love; all the more because they have not a chance. +"Cursed be the social wants that sin against the strength of youth." So, +you see, our agents will be quite safe not to crown the flame of the +patients, not to accept them, if they do propose, or expect a proposal. +"Every security from infection guaranteed." There is the felt want. Here +is the remedy; not warranted absolutely painless, but salutary, and +tending to the amelioration of the species. So we have only to enlist +the agents, and send a few advertisements to the papers. My first +editions must go. Farewell Shelley, Tennyson, Keats, uncut Waverleys, +Byron, _The Waltz_, early Kiplings (at a vast reduction on account of the +overflooded state of the market). Farewell Kilmarnock edition of Burns, +and Colonel Lovelace, his _Lucasta_, and _Tamerlane_ by Mr. Poe, and the +rest. The money must be raised.' Merton looked resigned. + +'I have nothing to sell,' said Logan, 'but an entire set of clubs by +Philp. Guaranteed unique, and in exquisite condition.' + +'You must part with them,' said Merton. 'We are like Palissy the potter, +feeding his furnace with the drawing-room furniture.' + +'But how about the recruiting?' Logan asked. 'It's like one of these +novels where you begin by collecting desperados from all quarters, and +then the shooting commences.' + +'Well, we need not ransack the Colonies,' Merton replied. 'Patronise +British industries. We know some fellows already and some young women.' + +'I say,' Logan interrupted, 'what a dab at disentangling Lumley would +have been if he had not got that Professorship of Toxicology at +Edinburgh, and been able to marry Miss Wingan at last!' + +'Yes, and Miss Wingan would have been useful. What a lively girl, ready +for everything,' Merton replied. + +'But these we can still get at,' Logan asked: 'how are you to be sure +that they are--vaccinated?' + +'The inquiry is delicate,' Merton admitted, 'but the fact may be almost +taken for granted. We must give a dinner (a preliminary expense) to +promising collaborators, and champagne is a great promoter of success in +delicate inquiries. _In vino veritas_.' + +'I don't know if there is money in it, but there is a kind of larkiness,' +Logan admitted. + +'Yes, I think there will be larks.' + +'About the dinner? We are not to have Johnnies disguised as hansom +cabbies driving about, and picking up men and women that look the right +sort, in the streets, and compelling them to come in?' + +'Oh no, _that_ expense we can cut. It would not do with the women, +obviously: heavens, what queer fishes that net would catch! The flag of +the Disentanglers shall never be stained by--anything. You know some +likely agents: I know some likely agents. They will suggest others, as +our field of usefulness widens. Of course there is the oath of secrecy: +we shall administer that after dinner to each guest apart.' + +'Jolly difficult for those that are mixed up with the press to keep an +oath of secrecy!' Logan spoke as a press man. + +'We shall only have to do with gentlemen and ladies. The oath is not +going to sanction itself with religious terrors. Good form--we shall +appeal to a "sense of form"--now so widely diffused by University +Extension Lectures on the Beautiful, the Fitting, the--' + +'Oh shut up!' cried Logan. 'You always haver after midnight. For, look +here, here is an objection; this precious plan of yours, parents and +others could work it for themselves. I dare say they do. When they see +the affections of a son, or a daughter, or a bereaved father beginning to +stray towards A., they probably invite B. to come and stay and act as a +lightning conductor. They don't need us.' + +'Oh, don't they? They seldom have an eligible and satisfactory lightning +conductor at hand, somebody to whom they can trust their dear one. Or, +if they have, the dear one has already been bored with the intended +lightning conductor (who is old, or plain, or stupid, or familiar, at +best), and they won't look at him or her. Now our Disentanglers are not +going to be plain, or dull, or old, or stale, or commonplace--we'll take +care of that. My dear fellow, don't you know how dismal the _parti_ +selected for a man or girl invariably is? Now _we_ provide a different +and superior article, a _fresh_ article too, not a familiar bore or a +neighbour.' + +'Well, there is a good deal in that, as you say,' Logan admitted. 'But +decent people will think the whole speculation shady. How are you to get +round that? There is something you have forgotten.' + +'What?' Merton asked. + +'Why it stares you in the face. References. Unexceptionable references; +people will expect them all round.' + +'Please don't say "unexceptionable"; say "references beyond the reach of +cavil."' Merton was a purist. 'It costs more in advertisements, but my +phrase at once enlists the sympathy of every liberal and elegant mind. +But as to references (and I am glad that you have some common sense, +Logan), there is, let me see, there is the Dowager.' + +'The divine Althaea--Marchioness of Bowton?' + +'The same,' said Merton. 'The oldest woman, and the most recklessly up- +to-date in London. She has seen _bien d'autres_, and wants to see more.' + +'She will do; and my aunt,' Logan said. + +'Not, oh, of course not, the one who left her money to the Armenians?' +Merton asked. + +'No, another. And there's old Lochmaben's young wife, my cousin, widely +removed, by marriage. She is American, you know, and perhaps you know +her book, _Social Experiments_?' + +'Yes, it is not half bad,' Merton conceded, 'and her heart will be in +what I fear she will call "the new departure." And she is pretty, and +highly respected in the parish.' + +'And there's my aunt I spoke of, or great aunt, Miss Nicky Maxwell. The +best old thing: a beautiful monument of old gentility, and she would give +her left hand to help any one of the clan.' + +'She will do. And there's Mrs. Brown-Smith, Lord Yarrow's daughter, who +married the patent soap man. _Elle est capable de tout_. A real good +woman, but full of her fun.' + +'That will do for the lady patronesses. We must secure them at once.' + +'But won't the clients blab?' Logan suggested. + +'They can't,' Merton said. 'They would be laughed at consumedly. It +will be their interest to hold their tongues.' + +'Well, let us hope that they will see it in that light.' Logan was not +too sanguine. + +Merton had a better opinion of his enterprise. + +'People, if they come to us at all for assistance in these very delicate +and intimate affairs, will have too much to lose by talking about them. +They may not come, we can only try, but if they come they will be silent +as the grave usually is.' + +'Well, it is late, and the whisky is low,' said Logan in mournful tones. +'May the morrow's reflections justify the inspiration of--the whisky. +Good night!' + +'Good night,' said Merton absently. + +He sat down when Logan had gone, and wrote a few notes on large sheets of +paper. He was elaborating the scheme. 'If collaboration consists in +making objections, as the French novelist said, Logan is a rare +collaborator,' Merton muttered as he turned out the pallid lamp and went +to bed. + +Next morning, before dressing, he revolved the scheme. It bore the +change of light and survived the inspiration of alcohol. Logan looked in +after breakfast. He had no new objections. They proceeded to action. + + + + +II. FROM THE HIGHWAYS AND HEDGES + + +The first step towards Merton's scheme was taken at once. The lady +patronesses were approached. The divine Althaea instantly came in. She +had enjoyed few things more since the Duchess of Richmond's ball on the +eve of Waterloo. Miss Nicky Maxwell at first professed a desire to open +her coffers, 'only anticipating,' she said, 'an event'--which Logan +declined in any sense to anticipate. Lady Lochmaben said that they would +have a lovely time as experimental students of society. Mrs. Brown-Smith +instantly offered her own services as a Disentangler, her lord being then +absent in America studying the negro market for detergents. + +'I think,' she said, 'he expects Brown-Smith's brand to make an Ethiopian +change his skin, and then means to exhibit him as an advertisement.' + +'And settle the negro question by making them all white men,' said Logan, +as he gracefully declined the generous but compromising proposal of the +lady. 'Yet, after all,' thought he, 'is she not right? The prophylactic +precautions would certainly be increased, morally speaking, if the +Disentanglers were married.' But while he pigeon-holed this idea for +future reference, at the moment he could not see his way to accepting +Mrs. Brown-Smith's spirited idea. She reluctantly acquiesced in his view +of the case, but, like the other dames, promised to guarantee, if applied +to, the absolute respectability of the enterprise. The usual vows of +secrecy were made, and (what borders on the supernatural) they were kept. + +Merton's first editions went to Sotheby's, 'Property of a gentleman who +is changing his objects of collection.' A Russian archduke bought +Logan's unique set of golf clubs by Philp. Funds accrued from other +sources. Logan had a friend, dearer friend had no man, one Trevor, a +pleasant bachelor whose sister kept house for him. His purse, or rather +his cheque book, gaped with desire to be at Logan's service, but had +gaped in vain. Finding Logan grinning one day over the advertisement +columns of a paper at the club, his prophetic soul discerned a good +thing, and he wormed it out 'in dern privacy.' He slapped his manly +thigh and insisted on being in it--as a capitalist. The other stoutly +resisted, but was overcome. + +'You need an office, you need retaining fees, you need outfits for the +accomplices, and it is a legitimate investment. I'll take interest and +risks,' said Trevor. + +So the money was found. + +The inaugural dinner, for the engaging of accomplices, was given in a +private room of a restaurant in Pall Mall. + +The dinner was gay, but a little pathetic. Neatness, rather than the +gloss of novelty (though other gloss there was), characterised the +garments of the men. The toilettes of the women were modest; that amount +of praise (and it is a good deal) they deserved. A young lady, Miss +Maskelyne, an amber-hued beauty, who practically lived as a female jester +at the houses of the great, shone resplendent, indeed, but magnificence +of apparel was demanded by her profession. + +'I am _so_ tired of it,' she said to Merton. 'Fancy being more and more +anxious for country house invitations. Fancy an artist's feelings, when +she knows she has not been a success. And then when the woman of the +house detests you! She often does. And when they ask you to give your +imitation of So-and-so, and forget that his niece is in the room! Do you +know what they would have called people like me a hundred years ago? Toad- +eaters! There is one of us in an old novel I read a bit of once. She +goes about, an old maid, to houses. Once she arrived in a snow storm and +a hearse. Am I to come to that? I keep learning new drawing-room +tricks. And when you fall ill, as I did at Eckford, and you can't leave, +and you think they are tired to death of you! Oh, it is I who am tired, +and time passes, and one grows old. I am a hag!' + +Merton said 'what he ought to have said,' and what, indeed, was true. He +was afraid she would tell him what she owed her dress-makers. Therefore +he steered the talk round to sport, then to the Highlands, then to +Knoydart, then to Alastair Macdonald of Craigiecorrichan, and then Merton +knew, by a tone in the voice, a drop of the eyelashes, that Miss +Maskelyne was--vaccinated. Prophylactic measures had been taken: this +agent ran no risk of infection. There was Alastair. + +Merton turned to Miss Willoughby, on his left. She was tall, dark, +handsome, but a little faded, and not plump: few of the faces round the +table were plump and well liking. Miss Willoughby, in fact, dwelt in one +room, in Bloomsbury, and dined on cocoa and bread and butter. These were +for her the rewards of the Higher Education. She lived by copying +crabbed manuscripts. + +'Do you ever go up to Oxford now?' said Merton. + +'Not often. Sometimes a St. Ursula girl gets a room in the town for me. +I have coached two or three of them at little reading parties. It gets +one out of town in autumn: Bloomsbury in August is not very fresh. And +at Oxford one can "tout," or "cadge," for a little work. But there are +so many of us.' + +'What are you busy with just now?' + +'Vatican transcripts at the Record Office.' + +'Any exciting secrets?' + +'Oh no, only how much the priests here paid to Rome for their promotions. +Secrets then perhaps: not thrilling now.' + +'No schemes to poison people?' + +'Not yet: no plots for novels, and oh, such long-winded pontifical Latin, +and such awful crabbed hands.' + +'It does not seem to lead to much?' + +'To nothing, in no way. But one is glad to get anything.' + +'Jephson, of Lincoln, whom I used to know, is doing a book on the Knights +of St. John in their Relations to the Empire,' said Merton. + +'Is he?' said Miss Willoughby, after a scarcely distinguishable but +embarrassed pause, and she turned from Merton to exhibit an interest in +the very original scheme of mural decoration behind her. + +'It is quite a new subject to most people,' said Merton, and he mentally +ticked off Miss Willoughby as safe, for Jephson, whom he had heard that +she liked, was a very poor man, living on his fellowship and coaching. He +was sorry: he had never liked or trusted Jephson. + +'It is a subject sure to create a sensation, isn't it?' asked Miss +Willoughby, a little paler than before. + +'It might get a man a professorship,' said Merton. + +'There are so many of us, of them, I mean,' said Miss Willoughby, and +Merton gave a small sigh. 'Not much larkiness here,' he thought, and +asked a transient waiter for champagne. + +Miss Willoughby drank a little of the wine: the colour came into her +face. + +'By Jove, she's awfully handsome,' thought Merton. + +'It was very kind of you to ask me to this festival,' said the girl. 'Why +have you asked us, me at least?' + +'Perhaps for many besides the obvious reason,' said Merton. 'You may be +told later.' + +'Then there is a reason in addition to that which most people don't find +obvious? Have you come into a fortune?' + +'No, but I am coming. My ship is on the sea and my boat is on the +shore.' + +'I see faces that I know. There is that tall handsome girl, Miss +Markham, with real gold hair, next Mr. Logan. We used to call her the +Venus of Milo, or Milo for short, at St. Ursula's. She has mantles and +things tried on her at Madame Claudine's, and stumpy purchasers argue +from the effect (neglecting the cause) that the things will suit _them_. +Her people were ruined by Australian gold mines. And there is Miss +Martin, who does stories for the penny story papers at a shilling the +thousand words. The fathers have backed horses, and the children's teeth +are set on edge. Is it a Neo-Christian dinner? We are all so poor. You +have sought us in the highways and hedges.' + +'Where the wild roses grow,' said Merton. + +'I don't know many of the men, though I see faces that one used to see in +the High. There is Mr. Yorker, the athletic man. What is he doing now?' + +'He is sub-vice-secretary of a cricket club. His income depends on his +bat and his curl from leg. But he has a rich aunt.' + +'Cricket does not lead to much, any more than my ability to read the +worst handwritings of the darkest ages. Who is the man that the +beautiful lady opposite is making laugh so?' asked Miss Willoughby, +without moving her lips. + +Merton wrote 'Bulstrode of Trinity' on the back of the menu. + +'What does _he_ do?' + +'Nothing,' said Merton in a low voice. 'Been alligator farming, or +ostrich farming, or ranching, and come back shorn; they all come back. He +wants to be an ecclesiastical "chucker out," and cope with Mr. Kensitt +and Co. New profession.' + +'He ought not to be here. He can ride and shoot.' + +'He is the only son of his mother and she is a widow.' + +'He ought to go out. My only brother is out. I wish I were a man. I +hate dawdlers.' She looked at him: her eyes were large and grey under +black lashes, they were dark and louring. + +'Have you, by any chance, a spark of the devil in you?' asked Merton, +taking a social header. + +'I have been told so, and sometimes thought so,' said Miss Willoughby. +'Perhaps this one will go out by fasting if not by prayer. Yes, I _have_ +a spark of the Accuser of the Brethren.' + +'_Tant mieux_,' thought Merton. + +All the people were talking and laughing now. Miss Maskelyne told a +story to the table. She did a trick with a wine glass, forks, and a +cork. Logan interviewed Miss Martin, who wrote tales for the penny +fiction people, on her methods. Had she a moral aim, a purpose? Did she +create her characters first, and let them evolve their fortunes, or did +she invent a plot, and make her characters fit in? + +Miss Martin said she began with a situation: 'I wish I could get one +somewhere as secretary to a man of letters.' + +'They can't afford secretaries,' said Logan. 'Besides they are family +men, married men, and so--' + +'And so what?' + +'Go look in any glass, and say,' said Logan, laughing. 'But how do you +begin with a situation?' + +'Oh, anyhow. A lot of men in a darkened room. Pitch dark.' + +'A seance?' + +'No, a conspiracy. They are in the dark that when arrested they may +swear they never saw each other.' + +'They could swear that anyhow.' + +'Conspirators have consciences. Then there comes a red light shining +between the door and the floor. Then the door breaks down under a +hammer, the light floods the room. There is a man in it whom the others +never saw enter.' + +'How did he get in?' + +'He was there before they came. Then the fighting begins. At the end of +it where is the man?' + +'Well, where is he? What was he up to?' + +'I don't know yet,' said Miss Martin, 'it just comes as I go on. It has +just got to come. It is a fourteen hours a day business. All writing. I +crib things from the French. Not whole stories. I take the opening +situation; say the two men in a boat on the river who hook up a sack. I +don't read the rest of the Frenchman, I work on from the sack, and guess +what was in it.' + +'What was in the sack?' + +'_In the Sack_! A name for a story! Anything, from the corpse of a +freak (good idea, corpse of a freak with no arms and legs, or with too +many) to a model of a submarine ship, or political papers. But I am +tired of corpses. They pervade my works. They give "a _bouquet_, a +fragrance," as Mr. Talbot Twysden said about his cheap claret.' + +'You read the old Masters?' + +'The obsolete Thackeray? Yes, I know him pretty well.' + +'What are you publishing just now?' + +'This to an author? Don't you know?' + +'I blush,' said Logan. + +'Unseen,' said Miss Martin, scrutinising him closely. + +'Well, you do not read the serials to which I contribute,' she went on. +'I have two or three things running. There is _The Judge's Secret_.' + +'What was that?' + +'He did it himself.' + +'Did what?' + +'Killed the bishop. He is not a very plausible judge in English: in +French he would be all right, a _juge d'instruction_, the man who cross- +examines the prisoners in private, you know.' + +'Judges don't do that in England,' said Logan. + +'No, but this case is an exception. The judge was such a very old +friend, a college friend, of the murdered bishop. So he takes advantage +of his official position, and steals into the cell of the accused. My +public does not know any better, and, of course, I have no reviewers. I +never come out in a book.' + +'And why did the judge assassinate the prelate?' + +'The prelate knew too much about the judge, who sat in the Court of +Probate and Divorce.' + +'Satan reproving sin?' asked Logan. + +'Yes, exactly; and the bishop being interested in the case--' + +'No scandal about Mrs. Proudie?' + +'No, not that exactly, still, you see the motive?' + +'I do,' said Logan. 'And the conclusion?' + +'The bishop was not really dead at all. It takes some time to explain. +The _corpus delicti_--you see I know my subject--was somebody else. And +the bishop was alive, and secretly watching the judge, disguised as Mr. +Sherlock Holmes. Oh, I know it is too much in Dickens's manner. But my +public has not read Dickens.' + +'You interest me keenly' said Logan. + +'I am glad to hear it. And the penny public take freely. Our +circulation goes up. I asked for a rise of three pence on the thousand +words.' + +'Now this _is_ what I call literary conversation,' said Logan. 'It is +like reading _The British Weekly Bookman_. Did you get the threepence? +if the inquiry is not indelicate.' + +'I got twopence. But, you see, there are so many of us.' + +'Tell me more. Are you serialising anything else?' + +'Serialising is the right word. I see you know a great deal about +literature. Yes, I am serialising a featured tale.' + +'A featured tale?' + +'You don't know what that is? You do not know everything yet! It is +called _Myself_.' + +'Why _Myself_?' + +'Oh, because the narrator did it--the murder. A stranger is found in a +wood, hung to a tree. Nobody knows who he is. But he and the narrator +had met in Paraguay. He, the murdered man, came home, visited the +narrator, and fell in love with the beautiful being to whom the narrator +was engaged. So the narrator lassoed him in a wood.' + +'Why?' + +'Oh, the old stock reason. He knew too much.' + +'What did he know?' + +'Why, that the narrator was living on a treasure originally robbed from a +church in South America.' + +'But, if it _was_ a treasure, who would care?' + +'The girl was a Catholic. And the murdered man knew more.' + +'How much more?' + +'This: to find out about the treasure, the narrator had taken priest's +orders, and, of course, could not marry. And the other man, being in +love with the girl, threatened to tell, and so the lasso came in handy. +It is a Protestant story and instructive.' + +'Jolly instructive! But, Miss Martin, you are the Guy Boothby of your +sex!' + +At this supreme tribute the girl blushed like dawn upon the hills. + +'My word, she is pretty!' thought Logan; but what he said was, 'You know +Mr. Tierney, your neighbour? Out of a job as a composition master. +Almost reduced to University Extension Lectures on the didactic Drama.' + +Tierney was talking eagerly to his neighbour, a fascinating lady +laundress, _la belle blanchisseuse_, about starch. + +Further off a lady instructress in cookery, Miss Frere, was conversing +with a tutor of bridge. + +'Tierney,' said Logan, in a pause, 'may I present you to Miss Martin?' +Then he turned to Miss Markham, formerly known at St. Ursula's as Milo. +She had been a teacher of golf, hockey, cricket, fencing, and gymnastics, +at a very large school for girls, in a very small town. Here she became +society to such an alarming extent (no party being complete without her, +while the colonels and majors never left her in peace), that her +connection with education was abruptly terminated. At present raiment +was draped on her magnificent shoulders at Madame Claudine's. Logan, as +he had told Merton, 'occasionally met her,' and Logan had the strongest +reasons for personal conviction that she was absolutely proof against +infection, in the trying circumstances to which a Disentangler is +professionally exposed. Indeed she alone of the women present knew from +Logan the purpose of the gathering. + +Cigarettes had replaced the desire of eating and drinking. Merton had +engaged a withdrawing room, where he meant to be closeted with his +guests, one by one, administer the oath, and prosecute delicate inquiries +on the important question of immunity from infection. But, after a +private word or two with Logan, he deemed these conspicuous formalities +needless. 'We have material enough to begin with,' said Logan. 'We knew +beforehand that some of the men were safe, and certain of the women.' + +There was a balcony. The providence of nature had provided a full moon, +and a night of balm. The imaginative maintained that the scent of hay +was breathed, among other odours, over Pall Mall the Blest. Merton kept +straying with one guest or another into a corner of the balcony. He +hinted that there was a thing in prospect. Would the guest hold himself, +or herself, ready at need? Next morning, if the promise was given, the +guest might awake to peace of conscience. The scheme was beneficent, +and, incidentally, cheerful. + +To some he mentioned retainers; money down, to speak grossly. Most +accepted on the strength of Merton's assurances that their services must +always be ready. There were difficulties with Miss Willoughby and Miss +Markham. The former lady (who needed it most) flatly refused the +arrangement. Merton pleaded in vain. Miss Markham, the girl known to +her contemporaries as Milo, could not hazard her present engagement at +Madame Claudine's. If she was needed by the scheme in the dead season +she thought that she could be ready for whatever it was. + +Nobody was told exactly what the scheme was. It was only made clear that +nobody was to be employed without the full and exhaustive knowledge of +the employers, for whom Merton and Logan were merely agents. If in +doubt, the agents might apply for counsel to the lady patronesses, whose +very names tranquilised the most anxious inquirers. The oath was +commuted for a promise, on honour, of secrecy. And, indeed, little if +anything was told that could be revealed. The thing was not political: +spies on Russia or France were not being recruited. That was made +perfectly clear. Anybody might withdraw, if the prospect, when beheld +nearer, seemed undesirable. A mystified but rather merry gathering +walked away to remote lodgings, Miss Maskelyne alone patronising a +hansom. + +On the day after the dinner Logan and Merton reviewed the event and its +promise, taking Trevor into their counsels. They were not ill satisfied +with the potential recruits. + +'There was one jolly little thing in white,' said Trevor. 'So pretty and +flowering! "Cherries ripe themselves do cry," a line in an old song, +that's what her face reminded me of. Who was she?' + +'She came with Miss Martin, the penny novelist,' said Logan. 'She is +stopping with her. A country parson's daughter, come up to town to try +to live by typewriting.' + +'She will be of no use to us,' said Merton. 'If ever a young woman +looked fancy-free it is that girl. What did you say her name is, Logan?' + +'I did not say, but, though you won't believe it, her name is Miss +Blossom, Miss Florry Blossom. Her godfathers and godmothers must bear +the burden of her appropriate Christian name; the other, the surname, is +a coincidence--designed or not.' + +'Well, she is not suitable,' said Merton sternly. 'Misplaced affections +she might distract, but then, after she had distracted them, she might +reciprocate them. As a conscientious manager I cannot recommend her to +clients.' + +'But,' said Trevor, 'she may be useful for all that, as well as decidedly +ornamental. Merton, you'll want a typewriter for your business +correspondence, and Miss Blossom typewrites: it is her profession.' + +'Well,' said Merton, 'I am not afraid. I do not care too much for "that +garden in her face," for your cherry-ripe sort of young person. If a +typewriter is necessary I can bear with her as well as another.' + +'I admire your courage and resignation,' said Trevor, 'so now let us go +and take rooms for the Society.' + +They found rooms, lordly rooms, which Trevor furnished in a stately +manner, hanging a selection of his mezzotints on the walls--ladies of old +years, after Romney, Reynolds, Hoppner, and the rest. A sober opulence +and comfort characterised the chambers; a well-selected set of books in a +Sheraton bookcase was intended to beguile the tedium of waiting clients. +The typewriter (Miss Blossom accepted the situation) occupied an inner +chamber, opening out of that which was to be sacred to consultations. + +The firm traded under the title of Messrs. Gray and Graham. Their +advertisement--in all the newspapers--addressed itself 'To Parents, +Guardians, Children and others.' It set forth the sorrows and anxieties +which beset families in the matter of undesirable matrimonial engagements +and entanglements. The advertisers proposed, by a new method, to restore +domestic peace and confidence. 'No private inquiries will, in any case, +be made into the past of the parties concerned. The highest references +will in every instance be given and demanded. Intending clients must in +the first instance apply by letter to Messrs. Gray and Graham. No charge +will be made for a first interview, which can only be granted after +satisfactory references have been exchanged by letter.' + +'If _that_ does not inspire confidence,' said Merton, 'I don't know what +will.' + +'Nothing short of it will do,' said Logan. + +'But the mezzotints will carry weight,' said Trevor, 'and a few good +cloisonnes and enamelled snuff-boxes and bronzes will do no harm.' + +So he sent in some weedings of his famous collection. + + + + +III. ADVENTURE OF THE FIRST CLIENTS + + +Merton was reading the newspaper in the office, expecting a client. Miss +Blossom was typewriting in the inner chamber; the door between was open. +The office boy knocked at Merton's outer door, and the sound of that +boy's strangled chuckling was distinctly audible to his employer. There +is something irritating in the foolish merriment of a youthful menial. No +conduct could be more likely than that of the office boy to irritate the +first client, arriving on business of which it were hard to exaggerate +the delicate and anxious nature. + +These reflections flitted through Merton's mind as he exclaimed 'Come +in,' with a tone of admonishing austerity. + +The office boy entered. His face was scarlet, his eyes goggled and ran +water. Hastily and loudly exclaiming 'Mr. and Miss Apsley' (which ended +with a crow) he stuffed his red pocket handkerchief into his mouth and +escaped. At the sound of the names, Merton had turned towards the inner +door, open behind him, whence came a clear and piercing trill of feminine +laughter from Miss Blossom. Merton angrily marched to the inner door, +and shut his typewriter in with a bang. His heart burned within him. +Nothing could be so insulting to clients; nothing so ruinous to a nascent +business. He wheeled round to greet his visitors with a face of apology; +his eyes on the average level of the human countenance divine. There was +no human countenance divine. There was no human countenance at that +altitude. His eyes encountered the opposite wall, and a print of 'Mrs. +Pelham Feeding Chickens.' + +In a moment his eyes adjusted themselves to a lower elevation. In front +of him were standing, hand in hand, a pair of small children, a boy of +nine in sailor costume, but with bare knees not usually affected by naval +officers, and a girl of seven with her finger in her mouth. + +The boy bowed gravely. He was a pretty little fellow with a pale oval +face, arched eyebrows, promise of an aquiline nose, and two large black +eyes. 'I think, sir,' said the child, 'I have the pleasure of redressing +myself to Mr. Gray or Mr. Graham?' + +'Graham, at your service,' said Merton, gravely; 'may I ask you and Miss +Apsley to be seated?' + +There was a large and imposing arm-chair in green leather; the client's +chair. Mr. Apsley lifted his little sister into it, and sat down beside +her himself. She threw her arms round his neck, and laid her flaxen +curls on his shoulder. Her blue eyes looked shyly at Merton out of her +fleece of gold. The four shoes of the clients dangled at some distance +above the carpet. + +'You are the author of this article, I think, Mr. Graham?' said Mr. +Apsley, showing his hand, which was warm, and holding out a little +crumpled ball of paper, not precisely fresh. + +Merton solemnly unrolled it; it contained the advertisement of his firm. + +'Yes,' he said, 'I wrote that.' + +'You got our letters, for you answered them,' said Mr. Apsley, with equal +solemnity. 'Why do you want Bats and me?' + +'The lady's name is Bats?' said Merton, wondering why he was supposed to +'want' either of the pair. + +'My name is Batsy. I like you: you are pretty,' said Miss Apsley. + +Merton positively blushed: he was unaccustomed to compliments so frank +from a member of the sex at an early stage of a business interview. He +therefore kissed his fair client, who put up a pair of innocent damp +lips, and then allowed her attention to be engrossed by a coin on his +watch-chain. + +'I don't quite remember your case, sir, or what you mean by saying I +wanted you, though I am delighted to see you,' he said to Mr. Apsley. 'We +have so many letters! With your permission I shall consult the letter +book.' + +'The article says "To Parents, Guardians, Children, and others." It was +in print,' remarked Mr. Apsley, with a heavy stress on "children," 'and +she said you wanted _us_.' + +The mystified Merton, wondering who 'she' was, turned the pages of the +letter book, mumbling, 'Abernethy, Applecombe, Ap. Davis, Apsley. Here +we are,' he began to read the letter aloud. It was typewritten, which, +when he saw his clients, not a little surprised him. + +'Gentlemen,' the letter ran, 'having seen your advertisement in the +_Daily Diatribe_ of to-day, May 17, I desire to express my wish to enter +into communication with you on a matter of pressing importance.--I am, in +the name of my sister, Miss Josephine Apsley, and myself, + +'Faithfully yours, +'THOMAS LLOYD APSLEY.' + +'That's the letter,' said Mr. Apsley, 'and you wrote to us.' + +'And what did I say?' asked Merton. + +'Something about preferences, which we did not understand.' + +'References, perhaps,' said Merton. 'Mr. Apsley, may I ask whether you +wrote this letter yourself?' + +'No; None-so-pretty printed it on a kind of sewing machine. _She_ told +us to come and see you, so we came. I called her None-so-pretty, out of +a fairy story. She does not mind. Gran says she thinks she rather likes +it.' + +'I shouldn't wonder if she did,' said Merton. 'But what is her real +name?' + +'She made me promise not to tell. She was staying at the Home Farm when +we were staying at Gran's.' + +'Is Gran your grandmother?' + +'Yes,' replied Mr. Apsley. + +Hereon Bats remarked that she was 'velly hungalee.' + +'To be sure,' said Merton. 'Luncheon shall be brought at once.' He rang +the bell, and, going out, interpellated the office boy. + +'Why did you laugh when my friends came to luncheon? You must learn +manners.' + +'Please, sir, the kid, the young gentleman I mean, said he came on +business,' answered the boy, showing apoplectic symptoms. + +'So he did; luncheon is his business. Go and bring luncheon for--five, +and see that there are chicken, cutlets, tartlets, apricots, and ginger- +beer.' + +The boy departed and Merton reflected. 'A hoax, somebody's practical +joke,' he said to himself. 'I wonder who Miss None-so-pretty is.' Then +he returned, assured Batsy that luncheon was even at the doors, and +leaving her to look at _Punch_, led Mr. Apsley aside. 'Tommy,' he said +(having seen his signature), 'where do you live?' + +The boy named a street on the frontiers of St. John's Wood. + +'And who is your father?' + +'Major Apsley, D.S.O.' + +'And how did you come here?' + +'In a hansom. I told the man to wait.' + +'How did you get away?' + +'Father took us to Lord's, with Miss Limmer, and there was a crowd, and +Bats and I slipped out; for None-so-pretty said we ought to call on you.' + +'Who is Miss Limmer?' + +'Our governess.' + +'Have you a mother?' + +The child's brown eyes filled with tears, and his cheeks flushed. 'It +was in India that she--' + +'Yes, be a man, Tommy. I am looking the other way,' which Merton did for +some seconds. 'Now, Tommy, is Miss Limmer kind to you?' + +The child's face became strangely set and blank; his eyes looking vacant. +'Miss Limmer is very kind to us. She loves us and we love her dearly. +Ask Batsy,' he said in a monotonous voice, as if he were repeating a +lesson. 'Batsy, come here,' he said in the same voice. 'Is Miss Limmer +kind to us?' + +Batsy threw up her eyes--it was like a stage effect, 'We love Miss Limmer +dearly, and she loves us. She is very, very kind to us, like our dear +mamma.' Her voice was monotonous too. 'I never can say the last part,' +said Tommy. 'Batsy knows it; about dear mamma.' + +'Indeed!' said Merton. 'Tommy, _why_ did you come here?' + +'I don't know. I told you that None-so-pretty told us to. She did it +after she saw _that_ when we were bathing.' Tommy raised one of his +little loose breeks that did not cover the knee. + +_That_ was not pleasant to look on: it was on the inside of the right +thigh. + +'How did you get hurt _there_?' asked Merton. + +The boy's monotonous chant began again: his eyes were fixed and blank as +before. 'I fell off a tree, and my leg hit a branch on the way down.' + +'Curious accident,' said Merton; 'and None-so-pretty saw the mark?' + +'Yes.' + +'And asked you how you got it?' + +'Yes, and she saw blue marks on Batsy, all over her arms.' + +'And you told None-so-pretty that you fell off a tree?' + +'Yes.' + +'And she told you to come here?' + +'Yes, she had read your printed article.' + +'Well, here is luncheon,' said Merton, and bade the office boy call Miss +Blossom from the inner chamber to share the meal. Batsy had as low a +chair as possible, and was disposing her napkin to do the duty of a +pinafore. + +Miss Blossom entered from within with downcast eyes. + +'None-so-pretty!' + +'None-so-pretty!' shouted the children, while Tommy rushed to throw his +arms round her neck, to meet which she stooped down, concealing a face of +blushes. Batsy descended from her chair, waddled up, climbed another +chair, and attacked the girl from the rear. The office boy was arranging +luncheon. Merton called him to the writing-table, scribbled a note, and +said, 'Take that to Dr. Maitland, with my compliments.' + +Maitland had been one of the guests at the inaugural dinner. He was +entirely devoid of patients, and was living on the anticipated gains of a +great work on Clinical Psychology. + +'Tell Dr. Maitland he will find me at luncheon if he comes instantly,' +said Merton as the boy fled on his errand. 'I see that I need not +introduce you to my young friends, Miss Blossom,' said Merton. 'May I +beg you to help Miss Apsley to arrange her tucker?' + +Miss Blossom, almost unbecomingly brilliant in her complexion, did as she +was asked. Batsy had cold chicken, new potatoes, green peas, and two +helpings of apricot tart. Tommy devoted himself to cutlets. A very mild +shandygaff was compounded for him in an old Oriel pewter. Both children +made love to Miss Blossom with their eyes. It was not at all what Merton +felt inclined to do; the lady had entangled him in a labyrinth of +puzzledom. + +'None-so-pretty,' exclaimed Tommy, 'I am glad you told us to come here. +Your friends are nice.' + +Merton bowed to Tommy, 'I am glad too,' he said. 'Miss Blossom knew that +we were kindred souls, same kind of chaps, I mean, you and me, you know, +Tommy!' + +Miss Blossom became more and more like the fabled peony, the crimson +variety. Luckily the office boy ushered in Dr. Maitland, who, exchanging +glances of surprise with Merton, over the children's heads, began to make +himself agreeable. He had nearly as many tricks as Miss Maskelyne. He +was doing the short-sighted man eating celery, and unable to find the +salt because he is unable to find his eyeglass. + +Merton, seeing his clients absorbed in mirth, murmured something vague +about 'business,' and spirited Miss Blossom away to the inner chamber. + +'Sit down, pray, Miss Blossom. There is no time to waste. What do you +know about these children? Why did you send them here?' + +The girl, who was pale enough now, said, 'I never thought they would +come.' + +'They are here, however. What do you know about them?' + +'I went to stay, lately, at the Home Farm on their grandmother's place. +We became great friends. I found out that they were motherless, and that +they were being cruelly ill-treated by their governess.' + +'Miss Limmer?' + +'Yes. But they both said they loved her dearly. They always said that +when asked. I gathered from their grandmother, old Mrs. Apsley, that +their father would listen to nothing against the governess. The old lady +cried in a helpless way, and said he was capable of marrying the woman, +out of obstinacy, if anybody interfered. I had your advertisement, and I +thought you might disentangle him. It was a kind of joke. I only told +them that you were a kind gentleman. I never dreamed of their really +coming.' + +'Well, you must take them back again presently, there is the address. You +must see their father; you must wait till you see him. And how are you +to explain this escapade? I can't have the children taught to lie.' + +'They have been taught _that_ lesson already.' + +'I don't think they are aware of it,' said Merton. + +Miss Blossom stared. + +'I can't explain, but you must find a way of keeping them out of a +scrape.' + +'I think I can manage it,' said Miss Blossom demurely. + +'I hope so. And manage, if you please, to see this Miss Limmer and +observe what kind of person she is,' said Merton, with his hand on the +door handle, adding, 'Please ask Dr. Maitland to come here, and do you +keep the children amused for a moment.' + +Miss Blossom nodded and left the room; there was laughter in the other +chamber. Presently Maitland joined Merton. + +'Look here,' said Merton, 'we must be rapid. These children are being +cruelly ill-treated and deny it. Will you get into talk with the boy, +and ask him if he is fond of his governess, say "Miss Limmer," and notice +what he says and how he says it? Then we must pack them away.' + +'All right,' said Maitland. + +They returned to the children. Miss Blossom retreated to the inner room. +Bats simplified matters by falling asleep in the client's chair. Maitland +began by talking about schools. Was Tommy going to Eton? + +Tommy did not know. He had a governess at home. + +'Not at a preparatory school yet? A big fellow like you?' + +Tommy said that he would like to go to school, but they would not send +him. + +'Why not?' + +Tommy hesitated, blushed, and ended by saying that they didn't think it +safe, as he walked in his sleep. + +'You will soon grow out of that,' said Maitland, 'but it is not very safe +at school. A boy I knew was found sound asleep on the roof at school.' + +'He might have fallen off,' said Tommy. + +'Yes. That's why your people keep you at home. But in a year or two you +will be all right. Know any Latin yet?' + +Tommy said that Miss Limmer taught him Latin. + +'Are you and she great friends?' + +Tommy's face and voice altered as before, while he mechanically repeated +the tale of the mutual affection which linked him with Miss Limmer. + +'_That's_ all very jolly,' said Maitland. + +'Now, Tommy,' said Merton, 'we must waken Batsy, and Miss Blossom is +going to take you both home. Hope we shall often meet.' + +He called Miss Blossom; Batsy kissed both of her new friends. Merton +conducted the party to the cab, and settled, in spite of Tommy's +remonstrances, with the cabman, who made a good thing of it, and nodded +when told to drive away as soon as he had deposited his charges at their +door. Then Merton led Maitland upstairs and offered him a cigar. + +'What do you think of it?' he asked. + +'Common post-hypnotic suggestion by the governess,' said Maitland. + +'I guessed as much, but can it really be worked like that? You are not +chaffing?' + +'Simplest thing to work in the world,' said Maitland. 'A lot of +nonsense, however, that the public believes in can't be done. The woman +could not sit down in St. John's Wood, and "will" Tommy to come to her if +he was in the next room. At least she might "will" till she was black in +the face, and he would know nothing about it. But she can put him to +sleep, and make him say what he does not want to say, in answer to +questions, afterwards, when he is awake.' + +'You're sure of it?' + +'It is as certain as anything in the world up to a certain point.' + +'The girl said something that the boy did not say, more gushing, about +his dead mother.' + +'The hypnotised subject often draws a line somewhere.' + +'The woman must be a fiend,' said Merton. + +'Some of them are, now and then,' said the author of _Clinical +Psychology_. + +* * * * * + +Miss Blossom's cab, the driver much encouraged by Tommy, who conversed +with him through the trap in the roof, dashed up to the door of a house +close to Lord's. The horse was going fast, and nearly cannoned into +another cab-horse, also going fast, which was almost thrown on its +haunches by the driver. Inside the other hansom was a tall man with a +pale face under the tan, who was nervously gnawing his moustache. Miss +Blossom saw him, Tommy saw him, and cried 'Father!' Half-hidden behind a +blind of the house Miss Blossom beheld a woman's face, expectant. Clearly +she was Miss Limmer. All the while that they were driving Miss Blossom's +wits had been at work to construct a story to account for the absence and +return of the children. Now, by a flash of invention, she called to her +cabman, 'Drive on--fast!' Major Apsley saw his lost children with their +arms round the neck of a wonderfully pretty girl; the pretty girl waved +her parasol to him with a smile, beckoning forwards; the children waved +their arms, calling out 'A race! a race!' + +What could a puzzled parent do but bid his cabman follow like the wind? +Miss Blossom's cab flew past Lord's, dived into Regent's Park, leading by +two lengths; reached the Zoological Gardens, and there its crew alighted, +demurely waiting for the Major. He leaped from his hansom, and taking +off his hat, strode up to Miss Blossom, as if he were leading a charge. +The children captured him by the legs. 'What does this mean, Madam? What +are you doing with my children? Who are you?' + +'She's None-so-pretty,' said Tommy, by way of introduction. + +Miss Blossom bowed with grace, and raising her head, shot two violet rays +into the eyes of the Major, which were of a bistre hue. But they +accepted the message, like a receiver in wireless telegraphy. No man, +let be a Major, could have resisted None-so-pretty at that moment. 'Come +into the gardens,' she said, and led the way. 'You would like a ride on +the elephant, Tommy?' she asked Master Apsley. 'And you, Batsy?' + +The children shouted assent. + +'How in the world does she know them?' thought the bewildered officer. + +The children mounted the elephant. + +'Now, Major Apsley,' said Miss Blossom, 'I have found your children.' + +'I owe you thanks, Madam; I have been very anxious, but--' + +'It is more than your thanks I want. I want you to do something for me, +a very little thing,' said Miss Blossom, with the air of a supplicating +angel, the violet eyes dewy with tears. + +'I am sure I shall be delighted to do anything you ask, but--' + +'Will you _promise_? It is a very little thing indeed!' and her hands +were clasped in entreaty. 'Please promise!' + +'Well, I promise.' + +'Then keep your word: it is a little thing! Take Tommy home this +instant, let nobody speak to him or touch him--and--make him take a bath, +and see him take it.' + +'Take a bath!' + +'Yes, at once, in your presence. Then ask him . . . any questions you +please, but pay extreme attention to his answers and his face, and the +sound of his voice. If that is not enough do the same with Batsy. And +after that I think you had better not let the children out of your sight +for a short time.' + +'These are very strange requests.' + +'And it was by a strange piece of luck that I met you driving home to see +if the lost children were found, and secured your attention before it +could be pre-engaged.' + +'But where did you find them and why?' + +Miss Blossom interrupted him, 'Here is the address of Dr. Maitland, I +have written it on my own card; he can answer some questions you may want +to ask. Later I will answer anything. And now in the name of God,' said +the girl reverently, with sudden emotion, 'you will keep your promise to +the letter?' + +'I will,' said the Major, and Miss Blossom waved her parasol to the +children. 'You must give the poor elephant a rest, he is tired,' she +cried, and the tender-hearted Batsy needed no more to make her descend +from the great earth-shaking beast. The children attacked her with +kisses, and then walked off, looking back, each holding one of the +paternal hands, and treading, after the manner of childhood, on the +paternal toes. + +Miss Blossom walked till she met an opportune omnibus. + +About an hour later a four-wheeler bore a woman with blazing eyes, and a +pile of trunks gaping untidily, from the Major's house in St. John's Wood +Road. + +The Honourable Company had won its first victory: Major Apsley, having +fulfilled Miss Blossom's commands, had seen what she expected him to see, +and was disentangled from Miss Limmer. + +The children still call their new stepmother None-so-pretty. + + + + +IV. ADVENTURE OF THE RICH UNCLE + + +'His God is his belly, Mr. Graham,' said the client, 'and if the text +strikes you as disagreeably unrefined, think how it must pain me to speak +thus of an uncle, if only by marriage.' + +The client was a meagre matron of forty-five, or thereabouts. Her dark +scant hair was smooth, and divided down the middle. Acerbity spoke in +every line of her face, which was of a dusky yellow, where it did not +rather verge on the faint hues of a violet past its prime. She wore +thread gloves, and she carried a battered reticule of early Victorian +days, in which Merton suspected that tracts were lurking. She had an +anxious peevish mouth; in truth she was not the kind of client in whom +Merton's heart delighted. + +And yet he was sorry for her, especially as her rich uncle's cook was the +goddess of the gentleman whose god had just been denounced in scriptural +terms by the client, a Mrs. Gisborne. She was sad, as well she might be, +for she was a struggler, with a large family, and great expectations from +the polytheistic uncle who adored his cook and one of his nobler organs. + +'What has his history been, this gentleman's--Mr. Fulton, I think you +called him?' + +'He was a drysalter in the City, sir,' and across Merton's mind flitted a +vision of a dark shop with Finnan haddocks, bacon, and tongues in the +window, and smelling terribly of cheese. + +'Oh, a drysalter?' he said, not daring to display ignorance by asking +questions to corroborate his theory of the drysalting business. + +'A drysalter, sir, and isinglass importer.' + +Merton was conscious of vagueness as to isinglass, and was distantly +reminded of a celebrated racehorse. However, it was clear that Mr. +Fulton was a retired tradesman of some kind. 'He went out of +isinglass--before the cheap scientific substitute was invented (it is +made out of old quill pens)--with seventy-five thousand pounds. And it +_ought_ to come to my children. He has not another relation living but +ourselves; he married my aunt. But we never see him: he said that he +could not stand our Sunday dinners at Hampstead.' + +A feeling not remote from sympathy with Mr. Fulton stole over Merton's +mind as he pictured these festivals. 'Is his god very--voluminous?' + +Mrs. Gisborne stared. + +'Is he a very portly gentleman?' + +'No, Mr. Graham, he is next door to a skeleton, though you would not +expect it, considering.' + +'Considering his devotion to the pleasures of the table?' + +'Gluttony, shameful waste _I_ call it. And he is a stumbling block and a +cause of offence to others. He is a patron of the City and Suburban +College of Cookery, and founded two scholarships there, for scholars +learning how to pamper the--' + +'The epicure,' said Merton. He knew the City and Suburban College of +Cookery. One of his band, a Miss Frere, was a Fellow and Tutor of that +academy. + +'And about what age is your uncle?' he asked. + +'About sixty, and not a white hair on his head.' + +'Then he may marry his cook?' + +'He will, sir.' + +'And is very likely to have a family.' + +Mrs. Gisborne sniffed, and produced a pocket handkerchief from the early +Victorian reticule. She applied the handkerchief to her eyes in silence. +Merton observed her with pity. 'We need the money so; there are so many +of us,' said the lady. + +'Do you think that Mr. Fulton is--passionately in love, with his +domestic?' + +'He only loves his meals,' said Mrs. Gisborne; '_he_ does not want to +marry her, but she has a hold over him through--his--' + +'Passions, not of the heart,' said Merton hastily. He dreaded an +anatomical reference. + +'He is afraid of losing her. He and his cronies give each other dinners, +jealous of each other they are; and he actually pays the woman two +hundred a year.' + +'And beer money?' said Merton. He had somewhere read or heard of beer +money as an item in domestic finance. + +'I don't know about that. The cruel thing is that she is a woman of +strict temperance principles. So am I. I am sure it is an awful thing +to say, Mr. Graham, but Satan has sometimes put it into my heart to wish +that the woman, like too, too many of her sort, was the victim of +alcoholic temptations. He has a fearful temper, and if once she was not +fit for duty at one of his dinners, this awful gnawing anxiety would +cease to ride my bosom. He would pack her off.' + +'Very natural. She is free from the besetting sin of the artistic +temperament?' + +'If you mean drink, she is; and that is one reason why he values her. His +last cook, and his last but one--' Here Mrs. Gisborne narrated at some +length the tragic histories of these artists. + +'Providential, I thought it, but now,' she said despairingly. + +'She certainly seems a difficult woman to dislodge,' said Merton. 'A +dangerous entanglement. Any followers allowed? Could anything be done +through the softer emotions? Would a guardsman, for instance--?' + +'She hates the men. Never one of them darkens her kitchen fire. Offers +she has had by the score, but they come by post, and she laughs and burns +them. Old Mr. Potter, one of his cronies, tried to get her away _that_ +way, but he is over seventy, and old at that, and she thought she had +another chance to better herself. And she'll take it, Mr. Graham, if you +can't do something: she'll take it.' + +'Will you permit me to say that you seem to know a good deal about her! +Perhaps you have some sort of means of intelligence in the enemy's camp?' + +'The kitchen maid,' said Mrs. Gisborne, purpling a little, 'is the sister +of our servant, and tells her things.' + +'I see,' said Merton. 'Now can you remember any little weakness of this, +I must frankly admit, admirable artist and exemplary woman?' + +'You are not going to take her side, a scheming red-faced hussy, Mr. +Graham?' + +'I never betrayed a client, Madam, and if you mean that I am likely to +help this person into your uncle's arms, you greatly misconceive me, and +the nature of my profession.' + +'I beg your pardon, sir, but I will say that your heart does not seem to +be in the case.' + +'It is not quite the kind of case with which we are accustomed to deal,' +said Merton. 'But you have not answered my question. Are there any weak +points in the defence? To Venus she is cold, of Bacchus she is +disdainful.' + +'I never heard of the gentlemen I am sure, sir, but as to her weaknesses, +she has the temper of a--' Here Mrs. Gisborne paused for a comparison. +Her knowledge of natural history and of mythology, the usual sources of +parallels, failed to provide a satisfactory resemblance to the cook's +temper. + +'The temper of a Megaera,' said Merton, admitting to himself that the +word was not, though mythological, what he could wish. + +'Of a Megaera as you know that creature, sir, and impetuous! If +everything is not handy, if that poor girl is not like clockwork with the +sauces, and herbs, and things, if a saucepan boils over, or a ham falls +into the fire, if the girl treads on the tail of one of the cats--and the +woman keeps a dozen--then she flies at her with anything that comes +handy.' + +'She is fond of cats?' said Merton; 'really this lady has sympathetic +points:' and he patted the grey Russian puss, Kutuzoff, which was a +witness to these interviews. + +'She dotes on the nasty things: and you may well say "lady!" Her Siamese +cat, a wild beast he is, took the first prize at the Crystal Palace Show. +The papers said "Miss Blowser's _Rangoon_, bred by the exhibitor." Miss +Blowser! I don't know what the world is coming to. He stands on the +doorsteps, the cat, like a lynx, and as fierce as a lion. Why he got her +into the police-court: flew at a dog, and nearly tore his owner, a +clergyman, to pieces. There were articles about it in the papers.' + +'I seem to remember it,' said Merton. '_Christianos ad Leones_'. In +fact he had written this humorous article himself. 'But is there nothing +else?' he asked. 'Only a temper, so natural to genius disturbed or +diverted in the process of composition, and a passion for the _felidae_, +such as has often been remarked in the great. There was Charles +Baudelaire, Mahomet--' + +'I don't know what you mean, sir, and,' said Mrs. Gisborne, rising, and +snapping her reticule, 'I think I was a fool for answering your +advertisement. I did not come here to be laughed at, and I think common +politeness--' + +'I beg a thousand pardons,' said Merton. 'I am most distressed at my +apparent discourtesy. My mind was preoccupied by the circumstances of +this very difficult case, and involuntarily glided into literary anecdote +on the subject of cats and their owners. They are my passion--cats--and +I regret that they inspire you with antipathy.' Here he picked up +Kutuzoff and carried him into the inner room. + +'It is not that I object to any of Heaven's creatures kept in their +place,' said Mrs. Gisborne somewhat mollified, 'but you must make +allowances, sir, for my anxiety. It sours a mother of nine. Friday is +one of his gorging dinner-parties, and who knows what may happen if she +pleases him? The kitchen maid says, I mean I hear, that she wears an +engaged ring already.' + +'That is very bad,' said Merton, with sympathy. 'The dinner is on +Friday, you say?' and he made a note of the date. + +'Yes, 15 Albany Grove, on the Regent's Canal.' + +'You can think of nothing else--no weakness to work on?' + +'No, sir, just her awful temper; I would save him from it, for _he_ has +another as bad. And besides hopes from him have kept me up so long, his +only relation, and times are so hard, and schooling and boots, and +everything so dear, and we so many in family.' Tears came into the poor +lady's eyes. + +'I'll give the case my very best attention,' he said, shaking hands with +the client. To Merton's horror she tried, Heaven help her, to pass a +circular packet, wrapped in paper, into his hand. He evaded it. It was +a first interview, for which no charge was made. 'What can be done shall +be done, though I confess that I do not see my way,' and he accompanied +her downstairs to the street. + +'I behaved like a cad with my chaff,' he said to himself, 'but hang me if +I see how to help her. And I rather admire that cook.' + +He went into the inner room, wakened the sleeping partner, Logan, on the +sofa, and unfolded the case with every detail. 'What can we do, _que +faire_!' + +'There's an exhibition of modern, mediaeval, ancient, and savage cookery +at Earl's Court, the Cookeries,' said Logan. 'Couldn't we seduce an +artist like Miss Blowser there, I mean _thither_ of course, the night +before the dinner, and get her up into the Great Wheel and somehow stop +the Wheel--and make her too late for her duties?' + +'And how are you going to stop the Wheel?' + +'Speak to the Man at the Wheel. Bribe the beggar.' + +'Dangerous, and awfully expensive. Then think of all the other people on +the Wheel! Logan, _vous chassez de race_. The old Restalrig blood is in +your veins.' + +'My ancestors nearly nipped off with a king, and why can't I carry off a +cook? Hustle her into a hansom--' + +'Oh, bah! these are not modern methods.' + +'_Il n'y a rien tel que d'enlever_,' said Logan. + +'I never shall stain the cause with police-courts,' said Merton. 'It +would be fatal.' + +'I've heard of a cook who fell on his sword when the fish did not come up +to time. Now a raid on the fish? She might fall on her carving knife +when they did not arrive, or leap into the flames of the kitchen fire, +like OEnone, don't you know.' + +'Bosh. Vatel was far from the sea, and he had not a fish-monger's shop +round the corner. Be modern.' + +Logan rumpled his hair, 'Can't I get her to lunch at a restaurant and ply +her with the wines of Eastern France? No, she is Temperance personified. +Can't we send her a forged telegram to say that her mother is dying? +Servants seem to have such lots of mothers, always inconveniently, or +conveniently, moribund.' + +'I won't have forgery. Great heavens, how obsolete you are! Besides, +that would not put her employer in a rage.' + +'Could I go and consult ---?' he mentioned a specialist. 'He is a man of +ideas.' + +'He is a man of the purest principles--and an uncommonly hard hitter.' + +'It is his purity I want. My own mind is hereditarily lawless. I want +something not immoral, yet efficacious. There was that parson, whom you +say the woman's cat nearly devoured. Like Paul with beasts he fought the +cat. Now, I wonder if that injured man is not meditating some priestly +revenge that would do our turn and get rid of Miss Blowser?' + +Merton shook his head impatiently. His own invention was busy, but to no +avail. Miss Blowser seemed impregnable. Kutuzoff Hedzoff, the puss, +stalked up to Logan and leaped on his knees. Logan stroked him, Kutuzoff +purred and blinked, Logan sought inspiration in his topaz eyes. At last +he spoke: 'Will you leave this affair to me, Merton? I think I have +found out a way.' + +'What way?' + +'That's my secret. You are so beastly moral, you might object. One +thing I may tell you--it does not compromise the Honourable Company of +Disentanglers.' + +'You are not going to try any detective work; to find out if she is a +woman with a past, with a husband living? You are not going to put a +live adder among the eels? I daresay drysalters eat eels. It is the +reading of sensational novels that ruins our youth.' + +'What a suspicious beggar you are. Certainly I am neither a detective +nor a murderer _a la Montepin_! + +'No practical jokes with the victuals?' + +'Of course not.' + +'No kidnapping Miss Blowser?' + +'Certainly no kidnapping--Miss Blowser.' + +'Now, honour bright, is your plan within the law? No police-court +publicity?' + +'No, the police will have no say or show in the matter; at least,' said +Logan, 'as far as my legal studies inform me, they won't. But I can take +counsel's opinion if you insist on it.' + +'Then you are sailing near the wind?' + +'Really I don't think so: not really what you call near.' + +'I am sorry for that unlucky Mrs. Gisborne,' said Merton, musingly. 'And +with two such tempers as the cook's and Mr. Fulton's the match could not +be a happy one. Well, Logan, I suppose you won't tell me what your game +is?' + +'Better not, I think, but, I assure you, honour is safe. I am certain +that nobody can say anything. I rather expect to earn public gratitude, +on the whole. _You_ can't appear in any way, nor the rest of us. By-the- +bye do you remember the address of the parson whose dog was hurt?' + +'I think I kept a cutting of the police case; it was amusing,' said +Merton, looking through a kind of album, and finding presently the record +of the incident. + +'It may come in handy, or it may not,' said Logan. He then went off, and +had Merton followed him he might not have been reassured. For Logan +first walked to a chemist's shop, where he purchased a quantity of a +certain drug. Next he went to the fencing rooms which he frequented, +took his fencing mask and glove, borrowed a fencing glove from a left- +handed swordsman whom he knew, and drove to his rooms with this odd +assortment of articles. Having deposited them, he paid a call at the +dwelling of a fair member of the Disentanglers, Miss Frere, the lady +instructress in the culinary art, at the City and Suburban College of +Cookery, whereof, as we have heard, Mr. Fulton, the eminent drysalter, +was a patron and visitor. Logan unfolded the case and his plan of +campaign to Miss Frere, who listened with intelligent sympathy. + +'Do you know the man by sight?' he asked. + +'Oh yes, and he knows me perfectly well. Last year he distributed the +prizes at the City and Suburban School of Cookery, and paid me the most +extraordinary compliments.' + +'Well deserved, I am confident,' said Logan; 'and now you are sure that +you know exactly what you have to do, as I have explained?' + +'Yes, I am to be walking through Albany Grove at a quarter to four on +Friday.' + +'Be punctual.' + +'You may rely on me,' said Miss Frere. + +Logan next day went to Trevor's rooms in the Albany; he was the +capitalist who had insisted on helping to finance the Disentanglers. To +Trevor he explained the situation, unfolded his plan, and asked leave to +borrow his private hansom. + +'Delighted,' said Trevor. 'I'll put on an old suit of tweeds, and a +seedy bowler, and drive you myself. It will be fun. Or should we take +my motor car?' + +'No, it attracts too much attention.' + +'Suppose we put a number on my cab, and paint the wheels yellow, like +pirates, you know, when they are disguising a captured ship. It won't do +to look like a private cab.' + +'These strike me as judicious precautions, Trevor, and worthy of your +genius. That is, if we are not caught.' + +'Oh, we won't be caught,' said Trevor. 'But, in the meantime, let us +find that place you mean to go to on a map of London, and I'll drive you +there now in a dog-cart. It is better to know the lie of the land.' + +Logan agreed and they drove to his objective in the afternoon; it was +beyond the border of known West Hammersmith. Trevor reconnoitred and +made judicious notes of short cuts. + +On the following day, which was Thursday, Logan had a difficult piece of +diplomacy to execute. He called at the rooms of the clergyman, a +bachelor and a curate, whose dog and person had suffered from the +assaults of Miss Blowser's Siamese favourite. He expected difficulties, +for a good deal of ridicule, including Merton's article, _Christianos ad +Leones_, had been heaped on this martyr. Logan looked forward to finding +him crusty, but, after seeming a little puzzled, the holy man exclaimed, +'Why, you must be Logan of Trinity?' + +'The same,' said Logan, who did not remember the face or name (which was +Wilkinson) of his host. + +'Why, I shall never forget your running catch under the scoring-box at +Lord's,' exclaimed Mr. Wilkinson, 'I can see it now. It saved the match. +I owe you more than I can say,' he added with deep emotion. + +'Then be grateful, and do me a little favour. I want--just for an hour +or two--to borrow your dog,' and he stooped to pat the animal, a +fox-terrier bearing recent and glorious scars. + +'Borrow Scout! Why, what can you want with him?' + +'I have suffered myself through an infernal wild beast of a cat in Albany +Grove,' said Logan, 'and I have a scheme--it is unchristian I own--of +revenge.' + +The curate's eyes glittered vindictively: 'Scout is no match for the +brute,' he said in a tone of manly regret. + +'Oh, Scout will be all right. There is not going to be a fight. He is +only needed to--give tone to the affair. You will be able to walk him +safely through Albany Grove after to-morrow.' + +'Won't there be a row if you kill the cat? He is what they think a +valuable animal. I never could stand cats myself.' + +'The higher vermin,' said Logan. 'But not a hair of his whiskers shall +be hurt. He will seek other haunts, that's all.' + +'But you don't mean to steal him?' asked the curate anxiously. 'You see, +suspicion might fall on me, as I am known to bear a grudge to the brute.' + +'I steal him! Not I,' said Logan. 'He shall sleep in his owner's arms, +if she likes. But Albany Grove shall know him no more.' + +'Then you may take Scout,' said Mr. Wilkinson. 'You have a cab there, +shall I drive to your rooms with you and him?' + +'Do,' said Logan, 'and then dine at the club.' Which they did, and +talked much cricket, Mr. Wilkinson being an enthusiast. + +* * * * * + +Next day, about 3.40 P.M., a hansom drew up at the corner of Albany +Grove. The fare alighted, and sauntered past Mr. Fulton's house. +Rangoon, the Siamese puss, was sitting in a scornful and leonine +attitude, in a tree of the garden above the railings, outside the open +kitchen windows, whence came penetrating and hospitable smells of good +fare. The stranger passed, and as he returned, dropped something here +and there on the pavement. It was valerian, which no cat can resist. + +Miss Blowser was in a culinary crisis, and could not leave the kitchen +range. Her face was of a fiery complexion; her locks were in a fine +disorder. 'Is Rangoon in his place, Mary?' she inquired of the kitchen +maid. + +'Yes, ma'am, in his tree,' said the maid. + +In this tree Rangoon used to sit like a Thug, dropping down on dogs who +passed by. + +Presently the maid said, 'Ma'am, Rangoon has jumped down, and is walking +off to the right, after a gentleman.' + +'After a sparrow, I dare say, bless him,' said Miss Blowser. Two minutes +later she asked, 'Has Rangy come back?' + +'No, ma'am.' + +'Just look out and see what he is doing, the dear.' + +'He's walking along the pavement, ma'am, sniffing at something. And oh! +there's that curate's dog.' + +'Yelping little brute! I hope Rangy will give him snuff,' said Miss +Blowser. + +'He's flown at him,' cried the maid ambiguously, in much excitement. 'Oh, +ma'am, the gentleman has caught hold of Rangoon. He's got a wire mask on +his face, and great thick gloves, not to be scratched. He's got Rangoon: +he's putting him in a bag,' but by this time Miss Blowser, brandishing a +saucepan with a long handle, had rushed out of the kitchen, through the +little garden, cannoned against Mr. Fulton, who happened to be coming in +with flowers to decorate his table, knocked him against a lamp-post, +opened the garden gate, and, armed and bareheaded as she was, had rushed +forth. You might have deemed that you beheld Bellona speeding to the +fray. + +What Miss Blowser saw was a man disappearing into a hansom, whence came +the yapping of a dog. Another cab was loitering by, empty; and this +cabman had his orders. Logan had seen to _that_. To hail that cab, to +leap in, to cry, 'Follow the scoundrel in front: a sovereign if you catch +him,' was to the active Miss Blowser the work of a moment. The man +whipped up his horse, the pursuit began, 'there was racing and chasing on +Cannobie Lee,' Marylebone rang with the screams of female rage and +distress. Mr. Fulton, he also, leaped up and rushed in pursuit, wringing +his hands. He had no turn of speed, and stopped panting. He only saw +Miss Blowser whisk into her cab, he only heard her yells that died in the +distance. Mr. Fulton sped back into his house. He shouted for Mary: +'What's the matter with your mistress, with my cook?' he raved. + +'Somebody's taken her cat, sir, and is off, in a cab, and her after him.' + +'After her cat! D--- her cat,' cried Mr. Fulton. 'My dinner will be +ruined! It is the last she shall touch in _this_ house. Out she +packs--pack her things, Mary; no, don't--do what you can in the kitchen. +I _must_ find a cook. Her cat!' and with language unworthy of a +drysalter Mr. Fulton clapped on his hat, and sped into the street, with a +vague idea of hurrying to Fortnum and Mason's, or some restaurant, or a +friend's house, indeed to any conceivable place where a cook might be +recruited _impromptu_. 'She leaves this very day,' he said aloud, as he +all but collided with a lady, a quiet, cool-looking lady, who stopped and +stared at him. + +'Oh, Miss Frere!' said Mr. Fulton, raising his hat, with a wild gleam of +hope in the trouble of his eyes, 'I have had such a misfortune!' + +'What has happened, Mr. Fulton?' + +'Oh, ma'am, I've lost my cook, and me with a dinner-party on to-day.' + +'Lost your cook? Not by death, I hope?' + +'No, ma'am, she has run away, in the very crisis, as I may call it.' + +'With whom?' + +'With nobody. After her cat. In a cab. I am undone. Where can I find +a cook? You may know of some one disengaged, though it is late in the +day, and dinner at seven. Can't you help me?' + +'Can you trust me, Mr. Fulton?' + +'Trust you; how, ma'am?' + +'Let me cook your dinner, at least till your cook catches her cat,' said +Miss Frere, smiling. + +'You, don't mean it, a lady!' + +'But a professed cook, Mr. Fulton, and anxious to help so nobly generous +a patron of the art . . . if you can trust me.' + +'Trust you, ma'am!' said Mr. Fulton, raising to heaven his obsecrating +hands. 'Why, you're a genius. It is a miracle, a mere miracle of good +luck.' + +By this time, of course, a small crowd of little boys and girls, amateurs +of dramatic scenes, was gathering. + +'We have no time to waste, Mr. Fulton. Let us go in, and let me get to +work. I dare say the cook will be back before I have taken off my +gloves.' + +'Not her, nor does she cook again in my house. The shock might have +killed a man of my age,' said Mr. Fulton, breathing heavily, and leading +the way up the steps to his own door. 'Her cat, the hussy!' he grumbled. + +Mr. Fulton kept his word. When Miss Blowser returned, with her saucepan +and Rangoon, she found her trunks in the passage, corded by Mr. Fulton's +own trembling hands, and she departed for ever. + +Her chase had been a stern chase, a long chase, the cab driven by Trevor +had never been out of sight. It led her, in the western wilds, to a Home +for Decayed and Destitute Cats, and it had driven away before she entered +the lane leading to the Home. But there she found Rangoon. He had just +been deposited there, in a seedy old traveller's fur-lined sleeping bag, +the matron of the Home averred, by a very pleasant gentleman, who said he +had found the cat astray, lost, and thinking him a rare and valuable +animal had deemed it best to deposit him at the Home. He had left money +to pay for advertisements. He had even left the advertisement, +typewritten (by Miss Blossom). + +'FOUND. A magnificent Siamese Cat. Apply to the Home for Destitute and +Decayed Cats, Water Lane, West Hammersmith.' + +'Very thoughtful of the gentleman,' said the matron of the Home. 'No; he +did not leave any address. Said something about doing good by stealth.' + +'Stealth, why he stole my cat!' exclaimed Miss Blowser. 'He must have +had the advertisement printed like that ready beforehand. It's a +conspiracy,' and she brandished her saucepan. + +The matron, who was prejudiced in favour of Logan, and his two +sovereigns, which now need not be expended in advertisements, was alarmed +by the hostile attitude of Miss Blowser. 'There's your cat,' she said +drily; 'it ain't stealing a cat to leave it, with money for its board, +and to pay for advertisements, in a well-conducted charitable +institution, with a duchess for president. And he even left five +shillings to pay for the cab of anybody as might call for the cat. There +is your money.' + +Miss Blowser threw the silver away. + +'Take your old cat in the bag,' said the matron, slamming the door in the +face of Miss Blowser. + +* * * * * + +After the trial for breach of promise of marriage, and after paying the +very considerable damages which Miss Blowser demanded and received, old +Mr. Fulton hardened his heart, and engaged a male _chef_. + +The gratitude of Mrs. Gisborne, now free from all anxiety, was touching. +But Merton assured her that he knew nothing whatever of the stratagem, +scarcely a worthy one, he thought, as she reported it, by which her uncle +was disentangled. + +It was Logan's opinion, and it is mine, that he had not been guilty of +theft, but perhaps of the wrongous detention or imprisonment of Rangoon. +'But,' he said, 'the Habeas Corpus Act has no clause about cats, and in +Scottish law, which is good enough for _me_, there is no property in +cats. You can't, legally, _steal_ them.' + +'How do you know?' asked Merton. + +'I took the opinion of an eminent sheriff substitute.' + +'What is that?' + +'Oh, a fearfully swagger legal official: _you_ have nothing like it.' + +'Rum country, Scotland,' said Merton. + +'Rum country, England,' said Logan, indignantly. '_You_ have no property +in corpses.' + +Merton was silenced. + +Neither could foresee how momentous, to each of them, the question of +property in corpses was to prove. _O pectora caeca_! + +* * * * * + +Miss Blowser is now Mrs. Potter. She married her aged wooer, and Rangoon +still wins prizes at the Crystal Palace. + + + + +V. THE ADVENTURE OF THE OFFICE SCREEN + + +It is not to be supposed that all the enterprises of the Company of +Disentanglers were fortunate. Nobody can command success, though, on the +other hand, a number of persons, civil and military, are able to keep her +at a distance with surprising uniformity. There was one class of +business which Merton soon learned to renounce in despair, just as some +sorts of maladies defy our medical science. + +'It is curious, and not very creditable to our chemists,' Merton said, +'that love philtres were once as common as seidlitz powders, while now we +have lost that secret. The wrong persons might drink love philtres, as +in the case of Tristram and Iseult. Or an unskilled rural practitioner +might send out the wrong drug, as in the instance of Lucretius, who went +mad in consequence.' + +'Perhaps,' remarked Logan, 'the chemist was voting at the Comitia, and it +was his boy who made a mistake about the mixture.' + +'Very probably, but as a rule, the love philtres _worked_. Now, with all +our boasted progress, the secret is totally lost. Nothing but a love +philtre would be of any use in some cases. There is Lord Methusalem, +eighty if he is a day.' + +'Methusalem has been unco "wastefu' in wives"!' said Logan. + +'His family have been consulting me--the women in tears. He _will_ marry +his grandchildren's German governess, and there is nothing to be done. In +such cases nothing is ever to be done. You can easily distract an aged +man's volatile affections, and attach them to a new charmer. But she is +just as ineligible as the first; marry he _will_, always a young woman. +Now if a respectable virgin or widow of, say, fifty, could hand him a +love philtre, and gain his heart, appearances would, more or less, be +saved. But, short of philtres, there is nothing to be done. We turn +away a great deal of business of that sort.' + +The Society of Disentanglers, then, reluctantly abandoned dealings in +this class of affairs. + +In another distressing business, Merton, as a patriot, was obliged to +abandon an attractive enterprise. The Marquis of Seakail was serving his +country as a volunteer, and had been mentioned in despatches. But, to +the misery of his family, he had entangled himself, before his departure, +with a young lady who taught in a high school for girls. Her character +was unimpeachable, her person graceful; still, as her father was a +butcher, the duke and duchess were reluctant to assent to the union. They +consulted Merton, and assured him that they would not flinch from +expense. A great idea flashed across Merton's mind. He might send out a +stalwart band of Disentanglers, who, disguised as the enemy, might +capture Seakail, and carry him off prisoner to some retreat where the +fairest of his female staff (of course with a suitable chaperon), would +await him in the character of a daughter of the hostile race. The result +would probably be to detach Seakail's heart from his love in England. But +on reflection, Merton felt that the scheme was unworthy of a patriot. + +Other painful cases occurred. One lady, a mother, of resolute character, +consulted Merton on the case of her son. He was betrothed to an +excitable girl, a neighbour in the country, who wrote long literary +letters about Mr. George Meredith's novels, and (when abroad) was a +perfect Baedeker, or Murray, or Mr. Augustus Hare: instructing through +correspondence. So the matron complained, but this was not the worst of +it. There was an unhappy family history, of a kind infinitely more +common in fiction than in real life. To be explicit, even according to +the ideas of the most abject barbarians, the young people, unwittingly, +were too near akin for matrimony. + +'There is nothing for it but to tell both of them the truth,' said +Merton. 'This is not a case in which we can be concerned.' + +The resolute matron did not take his counsel. The man was told, not the +girl, who died in painful circumstances, still writing. Her letters were +later given to the world, though obviously not intended for publication, +and only calculated to waken unavailing grief among the sentimental, and +to make the judicious tired. There was, however, a case in which Merton +may be said to have succeeded by a happy accident. Two visitors, ladies, +were ushered into his consulting room; they were announced as Miss +Baddeley and Miss Crofton. + +Miss Baddeley was attired in black, wore a thick veil, and trembled a +good deal. Miss Crofton, whose dress was a combination of untoward but +decisive hues, and whose hat was enormous and flamboyant, appeared to be +the other young lady's _confidante_, and conducted the business of the +interview. + +'My dear friend, Miss Baddeley,' she began, when Miss Baddeley took her +hand, and held it, as if for protection and sympathy. 'My dear friend,' +repeated Miss Crofton, 'has asked me to accompany her, and state her +case. She is too highly strung to speak for herself.' + +Miss Baddeley wrung Miss Crofton's hand, and visibly quivered. + +Merton assumed an air of sympathy. 'The situation is grave?' he asked. + +'My friend,' said Miss Crofton, thoroughly enjoying herself, 'is the +victim of passionate and unavailing remorse, are you not, Julia?' Julia +nodded. + +'Deeply as I sympathise,' said Merton, 'it appears to me that I am +scarcely the person to consult. A mother now--' + +'Julia has none.' + +'Or a father or sister?' + +'But for me, Julia is alone in the world.' + +'Then,' said Merton, 'there are many periodicals especially intended for +ladies. There is _The Woman of the World_, _The Girl's Guardian Angel_, +_Fashion and Passion_, and so on. The Editors, in their columns, reply +to questions in cases of conscience. I have myself read the replies to +_Correspondents_, and would especially recommend those published in a +serial conducted by Miss Annie Swan.' + +Miss Crofton shook her head. + +'Miss Baddeley's social position is not that of the people who are +answered in periodicals.' + +'Then why does she not consult some discreet and learned person, her +spiritual director? Remorse (entirely due, no doubt, to a conscience too +delicately sensitive) is not in our line of affairs. We only advise in +cases of undesirable matrimonial engagements.' + +'So we are aware,' said Miss Crofton. 'Dear Julia _is_ engaged, or +rather entangled, in--how many cases, dear?' + +Julia shook her head and sobbed behind her veil. + +'Is it one, Julia--nod when I come to the exact number--two? three? +four?' + +At the word 'four' Julia nodded assent. + +Merton very much wished that Julia would raise her veil. Her figure was +excellent, and with so many sins of this kind on her remorseful head, her +face, Merton thought, must be worth seeing. The case was new. As a +rule, clients wanted to disentangle their friends and relations. _This_ +client wanted to disentangle herself. + +'This case,' said Merton, 'will be difficult to conduct, and the expenses +would be considerable. I can hardly advise you to incur them. Our +ordinary method is to throw in the way of one or other of the engaged, or +entangled persons, some one who is likely to distract their affections; +of course,' he added, 'to a more eligible object. How can I hope to find +an object more eligible, Miss Crofton, than I must conceive your +interesting friend to be?' + +Miss Crofton caressingly raised Julia's veil. Before the victim of +remorse could bury her face in her hands, Merton had time to see that it +was a very pretty one. Julia was dark, pale, with 'eyes like billiard +balls' (as a celebrated amateur once remarked), with a beautiful mouth, +but with a somewhat wildly enthusiastic expression. + +'How can I hope?' Merton went on, 'to find a worthier and more attractive +object? Nay, how can I expect to secure the services not of one, but of +_four_--' + +'Three would do, Mr. Merton,' explained Miss Crofton. 'Is it not so, +Julia dearest?' + +Julia again nodded assent, and a sob came from behind the veil, which she +had resumed. + +'Even three,' said Merton, gallantly struggling with a strong inclination +to laugh, 'present difficulties. I do not speak the idle language of +compliment, Miss Crofton, when I say that our staff would be overtaxed by +the exigencies of this case. The expense also, even of three--' + +'Expense is no object,' said Miss Crofton. + +'But would it not, though I seem to speak against my own interests, be +the wisest, most honourable, and infinitely the least costly course, for +Miss Baddeley openly to inform her suitors, three out of the four at +least, of the actual posture of affairs? I have already suggested that, +as the lady takes the matter so seriously to heart, she should consult +her director, or, if of the Anglican or other Protestant denomination, +her clergyman, who I am sure will agree with me.' + +Miss Crofton shook her head. 'Julia is unattached,' she said. + +'I had gathered that to one of the four Miss Baddeley was--not +indifferent,' said Merton. + +'I meant,' said Miss Crofton severely, 'that Miss Baddeley is a Christian +unattached. My friend is sensitive, passionate, and deeply religious, +but not a member of any recognised denomination. The clergy--' + +'They never leave one alone,' said Julia in a musical voice. It was the +first time that she had spoken. 'Besides--' she added, and paused. + +'Besides, dear Julia _is_--entangled with a young clergyman whom, almost +in despair, she consulted on her case--at a picnic,' said Miss Crofton, +adding, 'he is prepared to seek a martyr's fate, but he insists that she +must accompany him.' + +'How unreasonable!' murmured Merton, who felt that this recalcitrant +clergyman was probably not the favourite out of the field of four. + +'That is what _I_ say,' remarked Miss Crofton. 'It is unreasonable to +expect Julia to accompany him when she has so much work to overtake in +the home field. But that is the way with all of them.' + +'All of them!' exclaimed Merton. 'Are all the devoted young men under +vows to seek the crown of martyrdom? Does your friend act as recruiting +sergeant, if you will pardon the phrase, for the noble army of martyrs?' + +'_Three_ of them have made the most solemn promises.' + +'And the fourth?' + +'_He_ is not in holy orders.' + +'Am I to understand that all the three admirers about whom Miss Baddeley +suffers remorse are clerics?' + +'Yes. Julia has a wonderful attraction for the Church,' said Miss +Crofton, 'and that is what causes her difficulties. She _can't_ write to +_them_, or communicate to _them_ in personal interviews (as you advised), +that her heart is no longer--' + +'Theirs,' said Merton. 'But why are the clergy more privileged than the +laity? I have heard of such things being broken to laymen. Indeed it +has occurred to many of us, and we yet live.' + +'I have urged the same facts on Julia myself,' said Miss Crofton. 'Indeed +I _know_, by personal experience, that what you say of the laity is true. +They do not break their hearts when disappointed. But Julia replies that +for her to act as you and I would advise might be to shatter the young +clergymen's ideals.' + +'To shatter the ideals of three young men in holy orders!' said Merton. + +'Yes, for Julia _is_ their ideal--Julia and Duty,' said Miss Crofton, as +if she were naming a firm. 'She lives only,' here Julia twisted the hand +of Miss Crofton, 'she lives only to do good. Her fortune, entirely under +her own control, enables her to do a great deal of good.' + +Merton began to understand that the charms of Julia were not entirely +confined to her _beaux yeux_. + +'She is a true philanthropist. Why, she rescued _me_ from the snares and +temptations of the stage,' said Miss Crofton. + +'Oh, _now_ I understand,' said Merton; 'I knew that your face and voice +were familiar to me. Did you not act in a revival of _The Country +Wife_?' + +'Hush,' said Miss Crofton. + +'And Lady Teazle at an amateur performance in the Canterbury week?' + +'These are days of which I do not desire to be reminded,' said Miss +Crofton. 'I was trying to explain to you that Julia lives to do good, +and has a heart of gold. No, my dear, Mr. Merton will much misconceive +you unless you let me explain everything.' This remark was in reply to +the agitated gestures of Julia. 'Thrown much among the younger clergy in +the exercise of her benevolence, Julia naturally awakens in them emotions +not wholly brotherly. Her sympathetic nature carries her off her feet, +and she sometimes says "Yes," out of mere goodness of heart, when it +would be wiser for her to say "No"; don't you, Julia?' + +Merton was reminded of one of M. Paul Bourget's amiable married heroines, +who erred out of sheer goodness of heart, but he only signified his +intelligence and sympathy. + +'Then poor Julia,' Miss Crofton went on hurriedly, 'finds that she has +misunderstood her heart. Recently, ever since she met Captain +Lestrange--of the Guards--' + +'The fourth?' asked Merton. + +Miss Crofton nodded. 'She has felt more and more certain that she _had_ +misread her heart. But on each occasion she _has_ felt this--after +meeting the--well, the next one.' + +'I see the awkwardness,' murmured Merton. + +'And then Remorse has set in, with all her horrors. Julia has wept, oh! +for nights, on my shoulder.' + +'Happy shoulder,' murmured Merton. + +'And so, as she _dare_ not shatter their ideals, and perhaps cause them +to plunge into excesses, moral or doctrinal, this is what she has done. +She has said to each, that what the Church, any Church, needs is martyrs, +and that if they will go to benighted lands, where the crown of martyrdom +may still be won, _then_, if they return safe in five years, then +she--will think of naming a day. You will easily see the attractions of +this plan for Julia, Mr. Merton. No ideals were shattered, the young men +being unaware of the circumstances. They _might_ forget her--' + +'Impossible,' cried Merton. + +'They might forget her, or, perhaps they--' + +Miss Crofton hesitated. + +'Perhaps they might never--?' asked Merton. + +'Yes,' said Miss Crofton; 'perhaps they might _not_. That would be all +to the good for the Church; no ideals would be shattered--the reverse--and +dear Julia would--' + +'Cherish their pious memories,' said Merton. + +'I see that you understand me,' said Miss Crofton. + +Merton did understand, and he was reminded of the wicked lady, who, when +tired of her lovers, had them put into a sack, and dropped into the +Seine. + +'But,' he asked, 'has this ingenious system failed to work? I should +suppose that each young man, on distant and on deadly shores, was far +from causing inconvenience.' + +'The defect of the system,' said Miss Crofton, 'is that none of them has +gone, or seems in a hurry to go. The first--that was Mr. Bathe, Julia?' + +Julia nodded. + +'Mr. Bathe was to have gone to Turkey during the Armenian atrocities, and +to have _forced_ England to intervene by taking the Armenian side and +getting massacred. Julia was intensely interested in the Armenians. But +Mr. Bathe first said that he must lead Julia to the altar before he went; +and then the massacres fell off, and he remains at Cheltenham, and is +very tiresome. And then there is Mr. Clancy, _he_ was to go out to +China, and denounce the gods of the heathen Chinese in the public +streets. But _he_ insisted that Julia should first be his, and he is at +Leamington, and not a step has he taken to convert the Boxers.' + +Merton knew the name of Clancy. Clancy had been his fag at school, and +Merton thought it extremely improbable that the Martyr's crown would ever +adorn his brow. + +'Then--and this is the last of them, of the clergy, at least--Mr. Brooke: +he was to visit the New Hebrides, where the natives are cannibals, and +utterly unawakened. He is as bad as the others. He won't go alone. Now, +Julia is obliged to correspond with all of them in affectionate terms +(she keeps well out of their way), and this course of what she feels to +be duplicity is preying terribly on her conscience.' + +Here Julia sobbed hysterically. + +'She is afraid, too, that by some accident, though none of them know each +other, they may become aware of the state of affairs, or Captain +Lestrange, to whom she is passionately attached, may find it out, and +then, not only may their ideals be wrecked, but--' + +'Yes, I see,' said Merton; 'it is awkward, very.' + +The interview, an early one, had lasted for some time. Merton felt that +the hour of luncheon had arrived, and, after luncheon, it had been his +intention to go up to the University match. He also knew, from various +sounds, that clients were waiting in the ante-chamber. At this moment +the door opened, and the office boy, entering, laid three cards before +him. + +'The gentlemen asked when you could see them, sir. They have been +waiting some time. They say that their appointment was at one o'clock, +and they wish to go back to Lord's.' + +'So do I,' thought Merton sadly. He looked at the cards, repressed a +whistle, and handed them silently to Miss Crofton, bidding the boy go, +and return in three minutes. + +Miss Crofton uttered a little shriek, and pressed the cards on Julia's +attention. Raising her veil, Julia scanned them, wrung her hands, and +displayed symptoms of a tendency to faint. The cards bore the names of +the Rev. Mr. Bathe, the Rev. Mr. Brooke, and the Rev. Mr. Clancy. + +'What is to be done?' asked Miss Crofton in a whisper. 'Can't you send +them away?' + +'Impossible,' said Merton firmly. + +'If we go out they will know me, and suspect Julia.' + +Miss Crofton looked round the room with eyes of desperate scrutiny. They +at once fell on a large old-fashioned screen, covered with engravings, +which Merton had picked up for the sake of two or three old mezzotints, +barbarously pasted on to this article of furniture by some ignorant +owner. + +'Saved! we are saved! Hist, Julia, hither!' said Miss Crofton in a stage +whisper. And while Merton murmured 'Highly unprofessional,' the skirts +of the two ladies vanished behind the screen. + +Miss Crofton had not played Lady Teazle for nothing. + +'Ask the gentlemen to come in,' said Merton, when the boy returned. + +They entered: three fair young curates, nervous and inclined to giggle. +Shades of difference of ecclesiastical opinion declared themselves in +their hats, costume, and jewellery. + +'Be seated, gentlemen,' said Merton, and they sat down on three chairs, +in identical attitudes. + +'We hope,' said the man on the left, 'that we are not here +inconveniently. We would have waited, but, you see, we have all come up +for the match.' + +'How is it going?' asked Merton anxiously. + +'Cambridge four wickets down for 115, but--' and the young man stared, +'it must be, it is Pussy Merton!' + +'And you, Clancy Minor, why are you not converting the Heathen Chinee? +You deserve a death of torture.' + +'Goodness! How do you know that?' asked Clancy. + +'I know many things,' answered Merton. 'I am not sure which of you is +Mr. Bathe.' + +Clancy presented Mr. Bathe, a florid young evangelist, who blushed. + +'Armenia is still suffering, Mr. Bathe; and Mr. Brooke,' said Merton, +detecting him by the Method of Residues, 'the oven is still hot in the +New Hebrides. What have you got to say for yourselves?' + +The curates shifted nervously on their chairs. + +'We see, Merton,' said Clancy, 'that you know a good deal which we did +not know ourselves till lately. In fact, we did not know each other till +the Church Congress at Leamington. Then the other men came to tea at my +rooms, and saw--' + +'A portrait of a lady; each of you possessed a similar portrait,' said +Merton. + +'How the dev--I mean, how do you know _that_?' + +'By a simple deductive process,' said Merton. 'There were also letters,' +he said. Here a gurgle from behind the screen was audible to Merton. + +'We did not read each others' letters,' said Clancy, blushing. + +'Of course not,' said Merton. + +'But the handwriting on the envelopes was identical,' Clancy went on. + +'Well, and what can our Society do for you?' + +'Why, we saw your advertisements, never guessed they were _yours_, of +course, Pussy, and--none of us is a man of the world--' + +'I congratulate you,' said Merton. + +'So we thought we had better take advice: it seemed rather a lark, too, +don't you know? The fact is--you appear to have divined it somehow--we +find that we are all engaged to the same lady. We can't fight, and we +can't all marry her.' + +'In Thibet it might be practicable: martyrdom might also be secured +there,' said Merton. + +'Martyrdom is not good enough,' said Clancy. + +'Not half,' said Bathe. + +'A man has his duties in his own country,' said Brooke. + +'May I ask whether in fact your sorrows at this discovery have been +intense?' asked Merton. + +'I was a good deal cut up at first,' said Clancy, 'I being the latest +recruit. Bathe had practically given up hope, and had seen some one +else.' Mr. Bathe drooped his head, and blushed. 'Brooke laughed. Indeed +we _all_ laughed, though we felt rather foolish. But what are we to do? +Should we write her a Round Robin? Bathe says he ought to be the man, +because he was first man in, and I say _I_ ought to be the man, because I +am not out.' + +'I would not build much on _that_,' said Merton, and he was sure that he +heard a rustle behind the screen, and a slight struggle. Julia was +trying to emerge, restrained by Miss Crofton. + +'I knew,' said Clancy, 'that there was _something_--that there were other +fellows. But that I learned, more or less, under the seal of confession, +so to speak.' + +'At a picnic,' said Merton. + +At this moment the screen fell with a crash, and Julia emerged, her eyes +blazing, while Miss Crofton followed, her hat somewhat crushed by the +falling screen. The three young men in Holy Orders, all of them +desirable young men, arose to their feet, trembling visibly. + +'Apostates!' cried Julia, who had by far the best of the dramatic +situation and pressed her advantage. 'Recreants! was it for such as +_you_ that I pointed to the crown of martyrdom? Was it for _your_ +shattered ideals that I have wept many a night on Serena's faithful +breast?' She pointed to Miss Crofton, who enfolded her in an embrace. +'You!' Julia went on, aiming at them the finger of conviction. 'I am but +a woman, weak I may have been, wavering I may have been, but I took you +for men! I chose you to dare, perhaps to perish, for a Cause. But now, +triflers that you are, boys, mere boys, back with you to your silly +games, back to the thoughtless throng. I have done.' + +Julia, attended by Miss Crofton, swept from the chamber, under her +indignation (which was quite as real as any of her other emotions) the +happiest woman in London. She had no more occasion for remorse, no +ideals had she sensibly injured. Her entanglements were disentangled. +She inhaled the fragrance of orange blossoms from afar, and heard the +marriage music in the chapel of the Guards. Meanwhile the three curates +and Merton felt as if they had been whipped. + +'Trust a woman to have the best of it,' muttered Merton admiringly. 'And +now, Clancy, may I offer a hasty luncheon to you and your friends before +we go to Lord's? Your business has been rather rapidly despatched.' + +The conversation at luncheon turned exclusively on cricket. + + + + +VI. A LOVER IN COCKY + + +It cannot be said that the bearers of the noblest names in the land +flocked at first to the offices of Messrs. Gray and Graham. In fact the +reverse, in the beginning, was the case. Members even of the more +learned professions held aloof: indeed barristers and physicians never +became eager clients. On the other hand, Messrs. Gray and Graham +received many letters in such handwritings, such grammar, and such +orthography, that they burned them without replying. A common sort of +case was that of the young farmer whose widowed mother had set her heart +on marriage with 'a bonny labouring boy,' a ploughman. + +'We can do nothing with these people,' Merton remarked. 'We can't send +down a young and elegant friend of ours to distract the affections of an +elderly female agriculturist. The bonny labouring boy would punch the +fashionable head; or, at all events, would prove much more attractive to +the widow than our agent. + +'Then there are the members of the Hebrew community. They hate mixed +marriages, and quite right too. I deeply sympathise. But if Leah has +let her affections loose on young Timmins, an Anglo-Saxon and a +Christian, what can we do? How stop the mesalliance? We have not, in +our little regiment, one fair Hebrew boy to smile away her maiden blame +among the Hebrew mothers of Maida Vale, and to cut out Timmins. And of +course it is as bad with the men. If young Isaacs wants to marry Miss +Julia Timmins, I have no Rebecca to slip at him. The Semitic demand, +though large and perhaps lucrative, cannot be met out of a purely Aryan +supply.' + +Business was pretty slack, and so Merton rather rejoiced over the +application of a Mrs. Nicholson, from The Laburnums, Walton-on-Dove, +Derbyshire. Mrs. Nicholson's name was not in Burke's 'Landed Gentry,' +and The Laburnums could hardly be estimated as one of the stately homes +of England. Still, the lady was granted an interview. She was what the +Scots call 'a buddy;' that is, she was large, round, attired in black, +between two ages, and not easily to be distinguished, by an unobservant +eye, from buddies as a class. After greetings, and when enthroned in the +client's chair, Mrs. Nicholson stated her case with simplicity and +directness. + +'It is my ward,' she said, 'Barbara Monypenny. I must tell you that she +was left in my charge till she is twenty-six. I and her lawyers make her +an allowance out of her property, which she is to get when she marries +with my consent, at whatever age.' + +'May I ask how old the lady is at present?' said Merton. + +'She is twenty-two.' + +'Your kindness in taking charge of her is not not wholly uncompensated?' + +'No, an allowance is made to me out of the estate.' + +'An allowance which ends on her marriage, if she marries with your +consent?' + +'Yes, it ends then. Her uncle trusted me a deal more than he trusted +Barbara. She was strange from a child. Fond of the men,' as if that +were an unusual and unbecoming form of philanthropy. + +'I see, and she being an heiress, the testator was anxious to protect her +youth and innocence?' + +Mrs. Nicholson merely sniffed, but the sniff was affirmative, though +sarcastic. + +'Her property, I suppose, is considerable? I do not ask from impertinent +curiosity, nor for exact figures. But, as a question of business, may we +call the fortune considerable?' + +'Most people do. It runs into six figures.' + +Merton, who had no mathematical head, scribbled on a piece of paper. The +result of his calculations (which I, not without some fever of the brow, +have personally verified) proved that 'six figures' might be anything +between 100,000_l_. and 999,000_l_. 19_s_. 11.75_d_. + +'Certainly it is very considerable,' Merton said, after a few minutes +passed in arithmetical calculation. 'Am I too curious if I ask what is +the source of this opulence?' + +'"Wilton's Panmedicon, or Heal All," a patent medicine. He sold the +patent and retired.' + +Merton shuddered. + +'It would be Pammedicum if it could be anything,' he thought, 'but it +can't, linguistically speaking.' + +'Invaluable as a subterfuge,' said Mrs. Nicholson, obviously with an +indistinct recollection of the advertisement and of the properties of the +drug. + +Merton construed the word as 'febrifuge,' silently, and asked: 'Have you +taken the young lady much into society: has she had many opportunities of +making a choice? You are dissatisfied with the choice, I understand, +which she has made?' + +'I don't let her see anybody if I can help it. Fire and powder are +better kept apart, and she is powder, a minx! Only a fisher or two comes +to the Perch, that's the inn at Walton-on-Dove, and _they_ are mostly old +gentlemen, pottering with their rods and things. If a young man comes to +the inn, I take care to trapes after her through the nasty damp meadows.' + +'Is the young lady an angler?' + +'She is--most unwomanly I call it.' + +Merton's idea of the young lady rose many degrees. 'You said the young +lady was "strange from a child, very strange. Fond of the men." Happily +for our sex, and for the world, it is not so very strange or unusual to +take pity on us.' + +'She has always been queer.' + +'You do not hint at any cerebral disequilibrium?' asked Merton. + +'Would you mind saying that again?' asked Mrs. Nicholson. + +'I meant nothing wrong _here_?' Merton said, laying his finger on his +brow. + +'No, not so bad as that,' said Mrs. Nicholson; 'but just queer. Uncommon. +Tells odd stories about--nonsense. She is wearing with her dreams. She +reads books on, I don't know how to call it--Tipsy-cake, Tipsicakical +Search. Histories, _I_ call it.' + +'Yes, I understand,' said Merton; 'Psychical Research.' + +'That's it, and Hyptonism,' said Mrs. Nicholson, as many ladies do. + +'Ah, Hyptonism, so called from its founder, Hypton, the eminent Anglo- +French chemist; he was burned at Rome, one of the latest victims of the +Inquisition,' said Merton. + +'I don't hold with Popery, sir, but it served _him_ right.' + +'That is all the queerness then!' + +'That and general discontentedness.' + +'Girls will be girls,' said Merton; 'she wants society.' + +'Want must be her master then,' said Mrs. Nicholson stolidly. + +'But about the man of her choice, have you anything against him?' + +'No, but nothing _for_ him: I never even saw him.' + +'Then where did Miss Monypenny make his acquaintance?' + +'Well, like a fool, I let her go to pass Christmas with some distant +cousins of my own, who should have known better. They stupidly took her +to a dance, at Tutbury, and there she met him: just that once.' + +'And they became engaged on so short an acquaintance?' + +'Not exactly that. She was not engaged when she came home, and did not +seem to mean to be. She did talk of him a lot. He had got round her +finely: told her that he was going out to the war, and that they were +sister spirits. He had dreamed of meeting her, he said, and that was why +he came to the ball, for he did not dance. He said he believed they had +met in a state of pre--something; meaning, if you understand me, before +they were born, which could not be the case: she not being a twin, still +less _his_ twin.' + +'That would be the only way of accounting for it, certainly,' said +Merton. 'But what followed? Did they correspond?' + +'He wrote to her, but she showed me the letter, and put it in the fire +unopened. He had written his name, Marmaduke Ingles, on a corner of the +envelope.' + +'So far her conduct seems correct, even austere,' said Merton. + +'It was at first, but then he wrote from South Africa, where he +volunteered as a doctor. He was a doctor at Tutbury.' + +'She opened that letter?' + +'Yes, and showed it to me. He kept on with his nonsense, asking her +never to forget him, and sending his photograph in cocky.' + +'Pardon!' said Merton. + +'In uniform. And if he fell, she would see his ghost, in cocky, crossing +her room, he said. In fact he knew how to get round the foolish girl. I +believe he went out there just to make himself interesting.' + +'Did you try to find out what sort of character he had at home?' + +'Yes, there was no harm in it, only he had no business to speak of, +everybody goes to Dr. Younghusband.' + +'Then, really, if he is an honest young man, as he seems to be a +patriotic fellow, are you certain that you are wise in objecting?' + +'I _do_ object,' said Mrs. Nicholson, and indeed her motives for refusing +her consent were only too obvious. + +'Are they quite definitely engaged?' asked Merton. + +'Yes they are now, by letter, and she says she will wait for him till I +die, or she is twenty-six, if I don't give my consent. He writes every +mail, from places with outlandish names, in Africa. And she keeps +looking in a glass ball, like the labourers' women, some of them; she's +sunk as low as _that_; so superstitious; and sometimes she tells me that +she sees what he is doing, and where he is; and now and then, when his +letters come, she shows me bits of them, to prove she was right. But +just as often she's wrong; only she won't listen to _me_. She says it's +Telly, Tellyopathy. I say it's flat nonsense.' + +'I quite agree with you,' said Merton, with conviction. 'After all, +though, honest, as far as you hear. . . .' + +'Oh yes, honest enough, but that's all,' interrupted Mrs. Nicholson, with +a hearty sneer. + +'Though he bears a good character, from what you tell me he seems to be a +very silly young man.' + +'Silly Johnny to silly Jenny,' put in Mrs. Nicholson. + +'A pair with ideas so absurd could not possibly be happy.' Merton +reasoned. 'Why don't you take her into the world, and show her life? +With her fortune and with _you_ to take her about, she would soon forget +this egregiously foolish romance.' + +'And me to have her snapped up by some whipper-snapper that calls himself +a lord? Not me, Mr. Graham,' said Mrs. Nicholson. 'The money that her +uncle made by the Panmedicon is not going to be spent on horses, and +worse, if I can help it.' + +'Then,' said Merton, 'all I can do for you is by our ordinary method--to +throw some young man of worth and education in the way of your ward, and +attempt to--divert her affections.' + +'And have _him_ carry her off under my very nose? Not much, Mr. Graham. +Why where do _I_ come in, in this pretty plan?' + +'Do not suppose me to suggest anything so--detrimental to your interests, +Mrs. Nicholson. Is your ward beautiful?' + +'A toad!' said Mrs. Nicholson with emphasis. + +'Very well. There is no danger. The gentleman of whom I speak is +betrothed to one of the most beautiful girls in England. They are deeply +attached, and their marriage is only deferred for prudential reasons.' + +'I don't trust one of them,' said Mrs. Nicholson. + +'Very well, madam,' answered Merton severely; 'I have done all that +experience can suggest. The gentleman of whom I speak has paid especial +attention to the mental delusions under which your ward is labouring, and +has been successful in removing them in some cases. But as you reject my +suggestion'--he rose, so did Mrs. Nicholson--'I have the honour of +wishing you a pleasant journey back to Derbyshire.' + +'A bullet may hit him,' said Mrs. Nicholson with much acerbity. 'That's +my best hope.' + +Then Merton bowed her out. + +'The old woman will never let the girl marry anybody, except some +adventurer, who squares her by giving her the full value of her allowance +out of the estate,' thought Merton, adding 'I wonder how much it is! Six +figures is anything between a hundred thousand and a million!' + +The man he had thought of sending down to divert Miss Monypenny's +affections from the young doctor was Jephson, the History coach, at that +hour waiting for a professorship to enable him to marry Miss Willoughby. + +However, he dismissed Mrs. Nicholson and her ward from his mind. About a +fortnight later Merton received a letter directed in an uneducated hand. +'Another of the agricultural classes,' he thought, but, looking at the +close of the epistle, he saw the name of Eliza Nicholson. She wrote: + + 'Sir,--Barbara has been at her glass ball, and seen him being carried + on board a ship. If she is right, and she is not always wrong, he is + on his way home. Though I will never give my consent, this spells + botheration for me. You can send down your young man that cures by + teleopathy, a thing that has come up since my time. He can stay at + the Perch, and take a fishing rod, then they are safe to meet. I + trust him no more than the rest, but she may fall between two stools, + if the doctor does come home. + + 'Your obedient servant, + + 'Eliza Nicholson.' + +'Merely to keep one's hand in,' thought Merton, 'in the present +disappointing slackness of business, I'll try to see Jephson. I don't +like or trust him. I don't think he is the man for Miss Willoughby. So, +if he ousts the doctor, and catches the heiress, why "there was more lost +at Shirramuir," as Logan says.' + +Merton managed to go up to Oxford, and called on Jephson. He found him +anxious about a good, quiet, cheap place for study. + +'Do you fish?' asked Merton. + +'When I get the chance,' said Jephson. + +He was a dark, rather clumsy, but not unprepossessing young don, with a +very slight squint. + +'If you fish did you ever try the Perch--I mean an inn, not the fish of +the same name--at Walton-on-Dove? A pretty quiet place, two miles of +water, local history perhaps interesting. It is not very far from +Tutbury, where Queen Mary was kept, I think.' + +'It sounds well,' said Jephson; 'I'll write to the landlord and ask about +terms.' + +'You could not do better,' said Merton, and he took his leave. + +'Now, am I,' thought Merton as he walked down the Broad, 'to put Jephson +up to it? If I don't, of course I can't "reap the benefit of one single +pin" for the Society: Jephson not being a member. But the money, anyhow, +would come from that old harpy out of the girl's estate. _Olet_! I +don't like the fragrance of that kind of cash. But if the girl really is +plain, "a toad," nothing may happen. On the other hand, Jephson is sure +to hear about her position from local gossip--that she is rich, and so +on. Perhaps she is not so very plain. They are sure to meet, or Mrs. +Nicholson will bring them together in her tactful way. She has not much +time to lose if the girl's glass ball yarn is true, and it _may_ be true +by a fluke. Jephson is rather bitten by a taste for all that +"teleopathy" business, as the old Malaprop calls it. On the whole, I +shall say no more to him, but let him play the game, if he goes to +Walton, off his own bat.' + +Presently Merton received a note from Jephson dated 'The Perch, Walton-on- +Dove.' Jephson expressed his gratitude; the place suited his purpose +very well. He had taken a brace and a half of trout, 'bordering on two +pounds' ('one and a quarter,' thought Merton). 'And, what won't interest +_you_,' his letter said, 'I have run across a curiously interesting +subject, what _you_ would call _hysterical_. But what, after all, is +hysteria?' &c., &c. + +'_L'affaire est dans le sac_!' said Merton to himself. 'Jephson and Miss +Monypenny have met!' + +Weeks passed, and one day, on arriving at the office, Merton found Miss +Willoughby there awaiting his arrival. She was the handsome Miss +Willoughby, Jephson's betrothed, a learned young lady who lived but +poorly by verifying references and making researches at the Record +Office. + +Merton at once had a surmise, nor was it mistaken. The usual greetings +had scarcely passed, when the girl, with cheeks on fire and eyes aflame, +said: + +'Mr. Merton, do you remember a question, rather unconventional, which you +put to me at the dinner party you and Mr. Logan gave at the restaurant?' + +'I ought not to have said it,' said Merton, 'but then it was an +unconventional gathering. I asked if you--' + +'Your words were "Had I a spark of the devil in me?" Well, I have! Can +I--' + +'Turn it to any purpose? You can, Miss Willoughby, and I shall have the +honour to lay the method before you, of course only for your +consideration, and under seal of secrecy. Indeed I was just about to +write to you asking for an interview.' + +Merton then laid the circumstances in which he wanted Miss Willoughby's +aid before her, but these must be reserved for the present. She +listened, was surprised, was clearly ready for more desperate adventures; +she came into his views, and departed. + +'Jephson _has_ played the game off his own bat--and won it,' thought +Merton to himself. 'What a very abject the fellow is! But, after all, I +have disentangled Miss Willoughby; she was infinitely too good for the +man, with his squint.' + +As Merton indulged in these rather Pharisaical reflections, Mrs. +Nicholson was announced. Merton greeted her, and gave orders that no +other client was to be admitted. He was himself rather nervous. Was +Mrs. Nicholson in a rage? No, her eyes beamed friendly; geniality +clothed her brow. + +'He has squared her,' thought Merton. + +Indeed, the lady had warmly grasped his hand with both of her own, which +were imprisoned in tight new gloves, while her bonnet spoke of +regardlessness of expense and recent prodigality. She fell back into the +client's chair. + +'Oh, sir,' she said, 'when first we met we did not part, or _I_ did +not--_you_ were quite the gentleman--on the best of terms. But now, how +can I speak of your wise advice, and how much don't I owe you?' + +Merton answered very gravely: 'You do not owe me anything, Madam. Please +understand that I took absolutely no professional steps in your affair.' + +'What?' cried Mrs. Nicholson. 'You did not send down that blessed young +man to the Perch?' + +'I merely suggested that the inn might suit a person whom I knew, who was +looking for country quarters. Your name never crossed my lips, nor a +word about the business on which you did me the honour to consult me.' + +'Then I owe you nothing?' + +'Nothing at all.' + +'Well, I do call this providential,' said Mrs. Nicholson, with devout +enthusiasm. + +'You are not in my debt to the extent of a farthing, but if you think I +have accidentally been--' + +'An instrument?' said Mrs. Nicholson. + +'Well, an unconscious instrument, perhaps you can at least tell me why +you think so. What has happened?' + +'You really don't know?' + +'I only know that you are pleased, and that your anxieties seem to be +relieved.' + +'Why, he saved her from being burned, and the brave,' said Mrs. +Nicholson, 'deserve the fair, not that _she_ is a beauty.' + +'Do tell me all that happened.' + +'And tell you I can, for that precious young man took me into his +confidence. First, when I heard that he had come to the Perch, I +trampled about the damp riverside with Barbara, and sure enough they met, +he being on the Perch's side of the fence, and Barbara's line being +caught high up in a tree on ours, as often happens. Well, I asked him to +come over the fence and help her to get her line clear, which he did very +civilly, and then he showed her how to fish, and then I asked him to tea +and left them alone a bit, and when I came back they were talking about +teleopathy, and her glass ball, and all that nonsense. And he seemed +interested, but not to believe in it quite. I could not understand half +their tipsycakical lingo. So of course they often met again at the +river, and he often came to tea, and she seemed to take to him--she was +always one for the men. And at last a very queer thing happened, and +gave him his chance. + +'It was a very hot day in July, and she fell asleep on a seat under a +tree with her glass ball in her lap; she had been staring at it, I +suppose. Any way she slept on, till the sun went round and shone full on +the ball; and just as he, Mr. Jephson, that is, came into the gate, the +glass ball began to act like a burning glass and her skirt began to +smoke. Well, he waited a bit, I think, till the skirt blazed a little, +and then he rushed up and threw his coat over her skirt, and put the fire +out. And so he saved her from being a Molochaust, like you read about in +the bible.' + +Merton mentally disengaged the word 'Molochaust' into 'Moloch' and +'holocaust.' + +'And there she was, when I happened to come by, a-crying and carrying on, +with her head on his shoulder.' + +'A pleasing group, and so they were engaged on the spot?' asked Merton. + +'Not she! She held off, and thanked her preserver; but she would be +true, she said, to her lover in cocky. But before that Mr. Jephson had +taken me into his confidence.' + +'And you made no objection to his winning your ward, if he could?' + +'No, sir, I could trust that young man: I could trust him with Barbara.' + +'His arguments,' said Merton, 'must have been very cogent?' + +'He understood my situation if she married, and what I deserved,' said +Mrs. Nicholson, growing rather uncomfortable, and fidgeting in the +client's chair. + +Merton, too, understood, and knew what the sympathetic arguments of +Jephson must have been. + +'And, after all,' Merton asked, 'the lover has prospered in his suit?' + +'This is how he got round her. He said to me that night, in private: +"Mrs. Nicholson," said he, "your niece is a very interesting historical +subject. I am deeply anxious, apart from my own passion for her, to +relieve her from a singular but not very uncommon delusion." + +'"Meaning her lover in cocky," I said. + +'"There is no lover in cocky," says he. + +'"No Dr. Ingles!" said I. + +'"Yes, there _is_ a Dr. Ingles, but he is not her lover, and your niece +never met him. I bicycled to Tutbury lately, and, after examining the +scene of Queen Mary's captivity, I made a few inquiries. What I had +always suspected proved to be true. Dr. Ingles was not present at that +ball at the Bear at Tutbury." + +'Well,' Mrs. Nicholson went on, 'you might have knocked me down with a +feather! I had never asked my second cousins the question, not wanting +them to guess about my affairs. But down I sat, and wrote to Maria, and +got her answer. Barbara never saw Dr. Ingles! only heard the girls +mention him, and his going to the war. And then, after that, by Mr. +Jephson's advice, I went and gave Barbara my mind. She should marry Mr. +Jephson, who saved her life, or be the laughing stock of the country. I +showed her up to herself, with her glass ball, and her teleopathy, and +her sham love-letters, that she wrote herself, and all her humbug. She +cried, and she fainted, and she carried on, but I went at her whenever +she could listen to reason. So she said "Yes," and I am the happy +woman.' + +'And Mr. Jephson is to be congratulated on so sensible and veracious a +bride,' said Merton. + +'Oh, he says it is by no means an uncommon case, and that he has effected +a complete cure, and they will be as happy as idiots,' said Mrs. +Nicholson, as she rose to depart. + +She left Merton pensive, and not disposed to overrate human nature. 'But +there can't be many fellows like Jephson,' he said. 'I wonder how much +the six figures run to?' But that question was never answered to his +satisfaction. + + + + +VII. THE ADVENTURE OF THE EXEMPLARY EARL + + +I. The Earl's Long-Lost Cousin + + +'A jilt in time saves nine,' says the proverbial wisdom of our +forefathers, adding, 'One jilt makes many.' In the last chapter of the +book of this chronicle, we told how the mercenary Mr. Jephson proved +false to the beautiful Miss Willoughby, who supported existence by her +skill in deciphering and transcribing the manuscript records of the past. +We described the consequent visit of Miss Willoughby to the office of the +Disentanglers, and how she reminded Merton that he had asked her once 'if +she had a spark of the devil in her.' She had that morning received, in +fact, a letter, crawling but explicit, from the unworthy Jephson, her +lover. Retired, he said, to the rural loneliness of Derbyshire, he had +read in his own heart, and what he there deciphered convinced him that, +as a man of honour, he had but one course before him: he must free Miss +Willoughby from her engagement. The lady was one of those who suffer in +silence. She made no moan, and no reply to Jephson's letter; but she did +visit Merton, and, practically, gave him to understand that she was ready +to start as a Corsair on the seas of amorous adventure. She had nailed +the black flag to the mast: unhappy herself, she was apt to have no mercy +on the sentiments and affections of others. + +Merton, as it chanced, had occasion for the services of a lady in this +mood; a lady at once attractive, and steely-hearted; resolute to revenge, +on the whole of the opposite sex, the baseness of a Fellow of his +College. Such is the frenzy of an injured love--illogical indeed (for we +are not responsible for the errors of isolated members of our sex), but +primitive, natural to women, and even to some men, in Miss Willoughby's +position. + +The occasion for such services as she would perform was provided by a +noble client who, on visiting the office, had found Merton out and Logan +in attendance. The visitor was the Earl of Embleton, of the North. +Entering the rooms, he fumbled with the string of his eyeglass, and, +after capturing it, looked at Logan with an air of some bewilderment. He +was a tall, erect, slim, and well-preserved patrician, with a manner +really shy, though hasty critics interpreted it as arrogant. He was +'between two ages,' a very susceptible period in the history of the +individual. + +'I think we have met before,' said the Earl to Logan. 'Your face is not +unfamiliar to me.' + +'Yes,' said Logan, 'I have seen you at several places;' and he mumbled a +number of names. + +'Ah, I remember now--at Lady Lochmaben's,' said Lord Embleton. 'You are, +I think, a relation of hers. . . .' + +'A distant relation: my name is Logan.' + +'What, of the Restalrig family?' said the Earl, with excitement. + +'A far-off kinsman of the Marquis,' said Logan, adding, 'May I ask you to +be seated?' + +'This is really very interesting to me--surprisingly interesting,' said +the Earl. 'What a strange coincidence! How small the world is, how +brief are the ages! Our ancestors, Mr. Logan, were very intimate long +ago.' + +'Indeed?' said Logan. + +'Yes. I would not speak of it to everybody; in fact, I have spoken of it +to no one; but recently, examining some documents in my muniment-room, I +made a discovery as interesting to me as it must be to you. Our +ancestors three hundred years ago--in 1600, to be exact--were fellow +conspirators.' + +'Ah, the old Gowrie game, to capture the King?' asked Logan, who had once +kidnapped a cat. + +His knowledge of history was mainly confined to that obscure and +unexplained affair, in which his wicked old ancestor is thought to have +had a hand. + +'That is it,' said the visitor--'the Gowrie mystery! You may remember +that an unknown person, a friend of your ancestor, was engaged?' + +'Yes,' said Logan; 'he was never identified. Was his name Harris?' + +The peer half rose to his feet, flushed a fine purple, twiddled the +obsolete little grey tuft on his chin, and sat down again. + +'I think I said, Mr. Logan, that the hitherto unidentified associate of +your ancestor was _a member of my own family_. Our name is _not_ +Harris--a name very honourably borne--our family name is Guevara. My +ancestor was a cousin of the brave Lord Willoughby.' + +'Most interesting! You must pardon me, but as nobody ever knew what you +have just found out, you will excuse my ignorance,' said Logan, who, to +be sure, had never heard of the brave Lord Willoughby. + +'It is I who ought to apologise,' said the visitor. 'Your mention of the +name of Harris appeared to me to indicate a frivolity as to matters of +the past which, I must confess, is apt to make me occasionally forget +myself. _Noblesse oblige_, you know: we respect ourselves--in our +progenitors.' + +'Unless he wants to prevent someone from marrying his great-grandmother, +I wonder what he is doing with his Tales of a Grandfather _here_,' +thought Logan, but he only smiled, and said, 'Assuredly--my own opinion. +I wish I could respect _my_ ancestor!' + +'The gentleman of whom I speak, the associate of your own distant +progenitor, was the founder of our house, as far as mere titles are +concerned. We were but squires of Northumbria, of ancient Celtic +descent, before the time of Queen Elizabeth. My ancestor at that time--' + +'Oh bother his pedigree!' thought Logan. + +'--was a young officer in the English garrison of Berwick, and _he_, I +find, was _your_ ancestor's unknown correspondent. I am not skilled in +reading old hands, and I am anxious to secure a trustworthy person--really +trustworthy--to transcribe the manuscripts which contain these exciting +details.' + +Logan thought that the office of the Disentanglers was hardly the place +to come to in search of an historical copyist. However, he remembered +Miss Willoughby, and said that he knew a lady of great skill and +industry, of good family too, upon whom his client might entirely depend. +'She is a Miss Willoughby,' he added. + +'Not one of the Willoughbys of the Wicket, a most worthy, though +unfortunate house, nearly allied, as I told you, to my own, about three +hundred years ago?' said the Earl. + +'Yes, she is a daughter of the last squire.' + +'Ruined in the modern race for wealth, like so many!' exclaimed the peer, +and he sat in silence, deeply moved; his lips formed a name familiar to +Law Courts. + +'Excuse my emotion, Mr. Logan,' he went on. 'I shall be happy to see and +arrange with this lady, who, I trust will, as my cousin, accept my +hospitality at Rookchester. I shall be deeply interested, as you, no +doubt, will also be, in the result of her researches into an affair which +so closely concerns both you and me.' + +He was silent again, musing deeply, while Logan marvelled more and more +what his real original business might be. All this affair of the +documents and the muniment-room had arisen by the merest accident, and +would not have arisen if the Earl had found Merton at home. The Earl +obviously had a difficulty in coming to the point: many clients had. To +approach a total stranger on the most intimate domestic affairs (even if +his ancestor and yours were in a big thing together three hundred years +ago) is, to a sensitive patrician, no easy task. In fact, even members +of the middle class were, as clients, occasionally affected by shyness. + +'Mr. Logan,' said the Earl, 'I am not a man of to-day. The cupidity of +our age, the eagerness with which wealthy aliens are welcomed into our +best houses and families, is to me, I may say, distasteful. Better that +our coronets were dimmed than that they should be gilded with the gold +eagles of Chicago or blazing with the diamonds of Kimberley. My feelings +on this point are unusually--I do not think that they are unduly--acute.' + +Logan murmured assent. + +'I am poor,' said the Earl, with all the expansiveness of the shy; 'but I +never held what is called a share in my life.' + +'It is long,' said Logan, with perfect truth, 'since anything of that +sort was in my own possession. In that respect my 'scutcheon, so to +speak, is without a stain.' + +'How fortunate I am to have fallen in with one of sentiments akin to my +own, unusual as they are!' said the Earl. 'I am a widower,' he went on, +'and have but one son and one daughter.' + +'He is coming to business _now_,' thought Logan. + +'The former, I fear, is as good almost as affianced--is certainly in +peril of betrothal--to a lady against whom I have not a word to say, +except that she is inordinately wealthy, the sole heiress of--' Here the +Earl gasped, and was visibly affected. 'You may have heard, sir,' the +patrician went on, 'of a commercial transaction of nature unfathomable to +myself--I have not sought for information,' he waved his hand +impatiently, 'a transaction called a Straddle?' + +Logan murmured that he was aware of the existence of the phrase, though +unconscious of its precise meaning. + +'The lady's wealth is based on a successful Straddle, operated by her +only known male ancestor, in--Bristles--Hogs' Bristles and Lard,' said +the Earl. + +'Miss Bangs!' exclaimed Logan, knowing the name, wealth, and the source +of the wealth of the ruling Chicago heiress of the day. + +'I am to be understood to speak of Miss Bangs--as her name has been +pronounced between us--with all the respect due to youth, beauty, and an +amiable disposition,' said the peer; 'but Bristles, Mr. Logan, Hogs' +Bristles and Lard. And a Straddle!' + +'Lucky devil, Scremerston,' thought Logan, for Scremerston was the only +son of Lord Embleton, and he, as it seemed, had secured that coveted +prize of the youth of England, the heart of the opulent Miss Bangs. But +Logan only sighed and stared at the wall as one who hears of an +irremediable disaster. + +'If they really were betrothed,' said Lord Embleton, 'I would have +nothing to say or do in the way of terminating the connection, however +unwelcome. A man's word is his word. It is in these circumstances of +doubt (when the fortunes of a house ancient, though titularly of mere +Tudor _noblesse_, hang in the balance) that, despairing of other help, I +have come to you.' + +'But,' asked Logan, 'have things gone so very far? Is the disaster +irremediable? I am acquainted with your son, Lord Scremerston; in fact, +he was my fag at school. May I speak quite freely?' + +'Certainly; you will oblige me.' + +'Well, by the candour of early friendship, Scremerston was called the +Arcadian, an allusion to a certain tenderness of heart allied with--h'm--a +rather confident and sanguine disposition. I think it may console you to +reflect that perhaps he rather overestimates his success with the +admirable young lady of whom we spoke. You are not certain that she has +accepted him?' + +'No,' said the Earl, obviously relieved. 'I am sure that he has not +positively proposed to her. He knows my opinion: he is a dutiful son, +but he did seem very confident--seemed to think that his honour was +engaged.' + +'I think we may discount that a little,' said Logan, 'and hope for the +best.' + +'I shall try to take that view,' said the Earl. 'You console me +infinitely, Mr. Logan.' + +Logan was about to speak again, when his client held up a gently +deprecating hand. + +'That is not all, Mr. Logan. I have a daughter--' + +Logan chanced to be slightly acquainted with the daughter, Lady Alice +Guevara, a very nice girl. + +'Is she attached to a South African Jew?' Logan thought. + +'In this case,' said the client, 'there is no want of blood; Royal in +origin, if it comes to that. To the House of Bourbon I have no +objection, in itself, that would be idle affectation.' + +Logan gasped. + +Was this extraordinary man anxious to reject a lady 'multimillionaire' +for his son, and a crown of some sort or other for his daughter? + +'But the stain of ill-gotten gold--silver too--is ineffaceable.' + +'It really cannot be Bristles this time,' thought Logan. + +'And a dynasty based on the roulette-table, . . . ' + +'Oh, the Prince of Scalastro!' cried Logan. + +'I see that you know the worst,' said the Earl. + +Logan knew the worst fairly well. The Prince of Scalastro owned a +percentage of two or three thousand which Logan had dropped at the tables +licensed in his principality. + +'To the Prince, personally, I bear no ill-will,' said the Earl. 'He is +young, brave, scientific, accomplished, and this unfortunate attachment +began before he inherited his--h'm--dominions. I fear it is, on both +sides, a deep and passionate sentiment. And now, Mr. Logan, you know the +full extent of my misfortunes: what course does your experience +recommend? I am not a harsh father. Could I disinherit Scremerston, +which I cannot, the loss would not be felt by him in the circumstances. +As to my daughter--' + +The peer rose and walked to the window. When he came back and resumed +his seat, Logan turned on him a countenance of mournful sympathy. The +Earl silently extended his hand, which Logan took. On few occasions had +a strain more severe been placed on his gravity, but, unlike a celebrated +diplomatist, he 'could command his smile.' + +'Your case,' he said, 'is one of the most singular, delicate, and +distressing which I have met in the course of my experience. There is no +objection to character, and poverty is not the impediment: the reverse. +You will permit me, no doubt, to consult my partner, Mr. Merton; we have +naturally no secrets between us, and he possesses a delicacy of touch and +a power of insight which I can only regard with admiring envy. It was he +who carried to a successful issue that difficult case in the family of +the Sultan of Mingrelia (you will observe that I use a fictitious name). +I can assure you, Lord Embleton, that polygamy presents problems almost +insoluble; problems of extreme delicacy--or indelicacy.' + +'I had not heard of that affair,' said the Earl. 'Like Eumaeus in Homer +and in Mr. Stephen Phillips, I dwell among the swine, and come rarely to +the city.' + +'The matter never went beyond the inmost diplomatic circles,' said Logan. +'The Sultan's favourite son, the Jam, or Crown Prince, of Mingrelia +(_Jamreal_, they called him), loved four beautiful Bollachians, +sisters--again I disguise the nationality.' + +'Sisters!' exclaimed the peer; 'I have always given my vote against the +Deceased Wife's Sister Bill; but _four_, and all alive!' + +'The law of the Prophet, as you are aware, is not monogamous,' said +Logan; 'and the Eastern races are not averse to connections which are +reprobated by our Western ideas. The real difficulty was that of +religion. + + 'Oh, why from the heretic girl of my soul + Should I fly, to seek elsewhere an orthodox kiss?' + +hummed Logan, rather to the surprise of Lord Embleton. He went on: 'It +is not so much that the Mingrelians object to mixed marriages in the +matter of religion, but the Bollachians, being Christians, do object, and +have a horror of polygamy. It was a cruel affair. All four girls, and +the Jamreal himself, were passionately attached to each other. It was +known, too, that, for political reasons, the maidens had received a +dispensation from the leading Archimandrite, their metropolitan, to marry +the proud Paynim. The Mingrelian Sultan is suzerain of Bollachia; his +native subjects are addicted to massacring the Bollachians from religious +motives, and the Bollachian Church (Nestorians, as you know) hoped that +the four brides would convert the Jamreal to their creed, and so solve +the Bollachian question. The end, they said, justified the means.' + +'Jesuitical,' said the Earl, shaking his head sadly. + +'That is what my friend and partner, Mr. Merton, thought,' said Logan, +'when we were applied to by the Sultan. Merton displayed extraordinary +tact and address. All was happily settled, the Sultan and the Jamreal +were reconciled, the young ladies met other admirers, and learned that +what they had taken for love was but a momentary infatuation.' + +The Earl sighed, '_Renovare dolorem_! My family,' said he, 'is, and has +long been--ever since the Gunpowder Plot--firmly, if not passionately, +attached to the Church of England. The Prince of Scalastro is a +Catholic.' + +'Had we a closer acquaintance with the parties concerned!' murmured +Logan. + +'You must come and visit us at Rookchester,' said the Earl. 'In any case +I am most anxious to know better one whose ancestor was so closely +connected with my own. We shall examine my documents under the tuition +of the lady you mentioned, Miss Willoughby, if she will accept the +hospitality of a kinsman.' + +Logan murmured acquiescence, and again asked permission to consult +Merton, which was granted. The Earl then shook hands and departed, +obviously somewhat easier in his mind. + +This remarkable conversation was duly reported by Logan to Merton. + +'What are we to do next?' asked Logan. + +'Why you can do nothing but reconnoitre. Go down to Rookchester. It is +in Northumberland, on the Coquet--a pretty place, but there is no fishing +just now. Then we must ask Lord Embleton to meet Miss Willoughby. The +interview can be here: Miss Willoughby will arrive, chaperoned by Miss +Blossom, after the Earl makes his appearance.' + +'That will do, as far as his bothering old manuscripts are concerned; but +how about the real business--the two undesirable marriages?' + +'We must first see how the land lies. I do not know any of the lovers. +What sort of fellow is Scremerston?' + +'Nothing remarkable about him--good, plucky, vain little fellow. I +suppose he wants money, like the rest of the world: but his father won't +let him be a director of anything, though he is in the House and his name +would look well on a list.' + +'So he wants to marry dollars?' + +'I suppose he has no objection to them; but have you seen Miss Bangs?' + +'I don't remember her,' said Merton. + +'Then you have not seen her. She is beautiful, by Jove; and, I fancy, +clever and nice, and gives herself no airs.' + +'And she has all that money, and yet the old gentleman objects!' + +'He can not stand the bristles and lard,' said Logan. + +'Then the Prince of Scalastro--him I have come across. You would never +take him for a foreigner,' said Merton, bestowing on the Royal youth the +highest compliment which an Englishman can pay, but adding, 'only he is +too intelligent and knows too much.' + +'No; there is nothing the matter with _him_,' Logan admitted--'nothing +but happening to inherit a gambling establishment and the garden it +stands in. He is a scientific character--a scientific soldier. I wish +we had a few like him.' + +'Well, it is a hard case,' said Merton. 'They all seem to be very good +sort of people. And Lady Alice Guevara? I hardly know her at all; but +she is pretty enough--tall, yellow hair, brown eyes.' + +'And as good a girl as lives,' added Logan. 'Very religious, too.' + +'She won't change her creed?' asked Merton. + +'She would go to the stake for it,' said Logan. 'She is more likely to +convert the Prince.' + +'That would be one difficulty out of the way,' said Merton. 'But the +gambling establishment? There is the rub! And the usual plan won't +work. You are a captivating person, Logan, but I do not think that you +could attract Lady Alice's affections and disentangle her in that way. +Besides, the Prince would have you out. Then Miss Bangs' dollars, not to +mention herself, must have too strong a hold on Scremerston. It really +looks too hard a case for us on paper. You must go down and +reconnoitre.' + +Logan agreed, and wrote asking Lord Embleton to come to the office, where +he could see Miss Willoughby and arrange about her visit to him and his +manuscripts. The young lady was invited to arrive rather later, bringing +Miss Blossom as her companion. + +On the appointed day Logan and Merton awaited Lord Embleton. He entered +with an air unwontedly buoyant, and was introduced to Merton. The first +result was an access of shyness. The Earl hummed, began sentences, +dropped them, and looked pathetically at Logan. Merton understood. The +Earl had taken to Logan (on account of their hereditary partnership in an +ancient iniquity), and it was obvious that he would say to him what he +would not say to his partner. Merton therefore withdrew to the outer +room (they had met in the inner), and the Earl delivered himself to Logan +in a little speech. + +'Since we met, Mr. Logan,' said he, 'a very fortunate event has occurred. +The Prince of Scalastro, in a private interview, has done me the honour +to take me into his confidence. He asked my permission to pay his +addresses to my daughter, and informed me that, finding his ownership of +the gambling establishment distasteful to her, he had determined not to +renew the lease to the company. He added that since his boyhood, having +been educated in Germany, he had entertained scruples about the position +which he would one day occupy, that he had never entered the rooms (that +haunt of vice), and that his acquaintance with my daughter had greatly +increased his objections to gambling, though his scruples were not +approved of by his confessor, a very learned priest.' + +'That is curious,' said Logan. + +'Very,' said the Earl. 'But as I expect the Prince and his confessor at +Rookchester, where I hope you will join us, we may perhaps find out the +reasons which actuate that no doubt respectable person. In the meantime, +as I would constrain nobody in matters of religion, I informed the Prince +that he had my permission to--well, to plead his cause for himself with +Lady Alice.' + +Logan warmly congratulated the Earl on the gratifying resolve of the +Prince, and privately wondered how the young people would support life, +when deprived of the profits from the tables. + +It was manifest, however, from the buoyant air of the Earl, that this +important question had never crossed his mind. He looked quite young in +the gladness of his heart, 'he smelled April and May,' he was clad +becomingly in summer raiment, and to Logan it was quite a pleasure to see +such a happy man. Some fifteen years seemed to have been taken from the +age of this buxom and simple-hearted patrician. + +He began to discuss with Logan all conceivable reasons why the Prince's +director had rather discouraged his idea of closing the gambling-rooms +for ever. + +'The Father, Father Riccoboni, is a Jesuit, Mr. Logan,' said the Earl +gravely. 'I would not be uncharitable, I hope I am not prejudiced, but +members of that community, I fear, often prefer what they think the +interests of their Church to those of our common Christianity. A portion +of the great wealth of the Scalastros was annually devoted to masses for +the souls of the players--about fifteen per cent. I believe--who yearly +shoot themselves in the gardens of the establishment.' + +'No more suicides, no more subscriptions, I suppose,' said Logan; 'but +the practice proved that the reigning Princes of Scalastro had feeling +hearts.' + +While the Earl developed this theme, Miss Willoughby, accompanied by Miss +Blossom, had joined Merton in the outer room. Miss Blossom, being clad +in white, with her blue eyes and apple-blossom complexion, looked like +the month of May. But Merton could not but be struck by Miss Willoughby. +She was tall and dark, with large grey eyes, a Greek profile, and a brow +which could, on occasion, be thunderous and lowering, so that Miss +Willoughby seemed to all a remarkably fine young woman; while the +educated spectator was involuntarily reminded of the beautiful sister of +the beautiful Helen, the celebrated Clytemnestra. The young lady was +clad in very dark blue, with orange points, so to speak, and compared +with her transcendent beauty, Miss Blossom, as Logan afterwards remarked, +seemed a + + 'Wee modest crimson-tippit beastie,' + +he intending to quote the poet Burns. + +After salutations, Merton remarked to Miss Blossom that her well-known +discretion might prompt her to take a seat near the window while he +discussed private business with Miss Willoughby. The good-humoured girl +retired to contemplate life from the casement, while Merton rapidly laid +the nature of Lord Embleton's affairs before the other lady. + +'You go down to Rookchester as a kinswoman and a guest, you understand, +and to do the business of the manuscripts.' + +'Oh, I shall rather like that than otherwise,' said Miss Willoughby, +smiling. + +'Then, as to the regular business of the Society, there is a Prince who +seems to be thought unworthy of the daughter of the house; and the son of +the house needs disentangling from an American heiress of great charm and +wealth.' + +'The tasks might satisfy any ambition,' said Miss Willoughby. 'Is the +idea that the Prince and the Viscount should _both_ neglect their former +flames?' + +'And burn incense at the altar of Venus Verticordia,' said Merton, with a +bow. + +'It is a large order,' replied Miss Willoughby, in the simple phrase of a +commercial age: but as Merton looked at her, and remembered the +vindictive feeling with which she now regarded his sex, he thought that +she, if anyone, was capable of executing the commission. He was not, of +course, as yet aware of the moral resolution lately arrived at by the +young potentate of Scalastro. + +'The manuscripts are the first thing, of course,' he said, and, as he +spoke, Logan and Lord Embleton re-entered the room. + +Merton presented the Earl to the ladies, and Miss Blossom soon retired to +her own apartment, and wrestled with the correspondence of the Society +and with her typewriting-machine. + +The Earl proved not to be nearly so shy where ladies were concerned. He +had not expected to find in his remote and long-lost cousin, Miss +Willoughby, a magnificent being like Persephone on a coin of Syracuse, +but it was plain that he was prepossessed in her favour, and there was a +touch of the affectionate in his courtesy. After congratulating himself +on recovering a kinswoman of a long-separated branch of his family, and +after a good deal of genealogical disquisition, he explained the nature +of the lady's historical tasks, and engaged her to visit him in the +country at an early date. Miss Willoughby then said farewell, having an +engagement at the Record Office, where, as the Earl gallantly observed, +she would 'make a sunshine in a shady place.' + +When she had gone, the Earl observed, '_Bon sang ne peut pas mentir_! To +think of that beautiful creature condemned to waste her lovely eyes on +faded ink and yellow papers! Why, she is, as the modern poet says, "a +sight to make an old man young."' + +He then asked Logan to acquaint Merton with the new and favourable aspect +of his affairs, and, after fixing Logan's visit to Rookchester for the +same date as Miss Willoughby's, he went off with a juvenile alertness. + +'I say,' said Logan, 'I don't know what will come of this, but +_something_ will come of it. I had no idea that girl was such a +paragon.' + +'Take care, Logan,' said Merton. 'You ought only to have eyes for Miss +Markham.' + +Miss Markham, the precise student may remember, was the lady once known +as the Venus of Milo to her young companions at St. Ursula's. Now +mantles were draped on her stately shoulders at Madame Claudine's, and +Logan and she were somewhat hopelessly attached to each other. + +'Take care of yourself at Rookchester,' Merton went on, 'or the +Disentangler may be entangled.' + +'I am not a viscount and I am not an earl,' said Logan, with a +reminiscence of an old popular song, 'nor I am not a prince, but a shade +or two _wuss_; and I think that Miss Willoughby will find other marks for +the artillery of her eyes.' + +'We shall have news of it,' said Merton. + + + +II. The Affair of the Jesuit + + +Trains do not stop at the little Rookchester station except when the high +and puissant prince the Earl of Embleton or his visitors, or his +ministers, servants, solicitors, and agents of all kinds, are bound for +that haven. When Logan arrived at the station, a bowery, flowery, +amateur-looking depot, like one of the 'model villages' that we sometimes +see off the stage, he was met by the Earl, his son Lord Scremerston, and +Miss Willoughby. Logan's baggage was spirited away by menials, who +doubtless bore it to the house in some ordinary conveyance, and by the +vulgar road. But Lord Embleton explained that as the evening was warm, +and the woodland path by the river was cool, they had walked down to +welcome the coming guest. + +The walk was beautiful indeed along the top of the precipitous red +sandstone cliffs, with the deep, dark pools of the Coquet sleeping far +below. Now and then a heron poised, or a rock pigeon flew by, between +the river and the cliff-top. The opposite bank was embowered in deep +green wood, and the place was very refreshing after the torrid bricks and +distressing odours of the July streets of London. + +The path was narrow: there was room for only two abreast. Miss +Willoughby and Scremerston led the way, and were soon lost to sight by a +turn in the path. As for Lord Embleton, he certainly seemed to have +drunk of that fountain of youth about which the old French poet Pontus de +Tyard reports to us, and to be going back, not forward, in age. He +looked very neat, slim, and cool, but that could not be the only cause of +the miracle of rejuvenescence. Closely regarding his host in profile, +Logan remarked that he had shaved off his moustache and the little, +obsolete, iron-grey chin-tuft which, in moments of perplexity, he had +been wont to twiddle. Its loss was certainly a very great improvement to +the clean-cut features of this patrician. + +'We are a very small party,' said Lord Embleton, 'only the Prince, my +daughter, Father Riccoboni, Miss Willoughby, my sister, Scremerston, and +you and I. Miss Willoughby came last week. In the mornings she and I +are busy with the manuscripts. We have found most interesting things. +When their plot failed, your ancestor and mine prepared a ship to start +for the Western seas and attack the treasure-ships of Spain. But peace +broke out, and they never achieved that adventure. Miss Willoughby is a +cousin well worth discovering, so intelligent, and so wonderfully +attractive.' + +'So Scremerston seems to think,' was Logan's idea, for the further he and +the Earl advanced, the less, if possible, they saw of the pair in front +of them; indeed, neither was visible again till the party met before +dinner. + +However, Logan only said that he had a great esteem for Miss Willoughby's +courage and industry through the trying years of poverty since she left +St. Ursula's. + +'The Prince we have not seen very much of,' said the Earl, 'as is +natural; for you will be glad to know that everything seems most happily +arranged, except so far as the religious difficulty goes. As for Father +Riccoboni, he is a quiet intelligent man, who passes most of his time in +the library, but makes himself very agreeable at meals. And now here we +are arrived.' + +They had reached the south side of the house--an eighteenth-century +building in the red sandstone of the district, giving on a grassy +terrace. There the host's maiden sister, Lady Mary Guevara, was seated +by a tea-table, surrounded by dogs--two collies and an Aberdeenshire +terrier. Beside her were Father Riccoboni, with a newspaper in his hand, +Lady Alice, with whom Logan had already some acquaintance, and the Prince +of Scalastro. Logan was presented, and took quiet notes of the assembly, +while the usual chatter about the weather and his journey got itself +transacted, and the view of the valley of the Coquet had justice done to +its charms. + +Lady Mary was very like a feminine edition of the Earl, refined, shy, and +with silvery hair. Lady Alice was a pretty, quiet type of the English +girl who is not up to date, with a particularly happy and winning +expression. The Prince was of a Teutonic fairness; for the Royal caste, +whatever the nationality, is to a great extent made in Germany, and +retains the physical characteristics of that ancient forest people whom +the Roman historian (never having met them) so lovingly idealised. The +Prince was tall, well-proportioned, and looked 'every inch a soldier.' +There were a great many inches. + +As for Father Riccoboni, the learned have remarked that there are two +chief clerical types: the dark, ascetic type, to be found equally among +Unitarians, Baptists, Anglicans, Presbyterians, and Catholics, and the +burly, well-fed, genial type, which 'cometh eating and drinking.' The +Father was of this second kind; a lusty man--not that you could call him +a sensual-looking man, still less was he a noisy humourist; but he had a +considerable jowl, a strong jaw, a wide, firm mouth, and large teeth, +very white and square. Logan thought that he, too, had the makings of a +soldier, and also felt almost certain that he had seen him before. But +where?--for Logan's acquaintance with the clergy, especially the foreign +clergy, was not extensive. The Father spoke English very well, with a +slight German accent and a little hoarseness; his voice, too, did not +sound unfamiliar to Logan. But he delved in his subconscious memory in +vain; there was the Father, a man with whom he certainly had some +associations, yet he could not place the man. + +A bell jangled somewhere without as they took tea and tattled; and, +looking towards the place whence the sound came, Logan saw a little group +of Italian musicians walking down the avenue which led through the park +to the east side of the house and the main entrance. They entered, with +many obeisances, through the old gate of floreated wrought iron, and +stopping there, about forty yards away, they piped, while a girl, in the +usual _contadina_ dress, clashed her cymbals and danced not ungracefully. +The Father, who either did not like music or did not like it of that +sort, sighed, rose from his seat, and went into the house by an open +French window. The Prince also rose, but he went forward to the group of +Italians, and spoke to them for a few minutes. If he did not like that +sort of music, he took the more excellent way, for the action of his +elbow indicated a movement of his hand towards his waistcoat-pocket. He +returned to the party on the terrace, and the itinerant artists, after +more obeisances, walked slowly back by the way they had come. + +'They are Genoese,' said the Prince, 'tramping north to Scotland for the +holiday season.' + +'They will meet strong competition from the pipers,' said Logan, while +the Earl rose, and walked rapidly after the musicians. + +'I do not like the pipes myself,' Logan went on, 'but when I hear them in +a London street my heart does warm to the skirl and the shabby tartans.' + +'I feel with you,' said the Prince, 'when I see the smiling faces of +these poor sons of the South among--well, your English faces are not +usually joyous--if one may venture to be critical.' + +He looked up, and, his eyes meeting those of Lady Alice, he had occasion +to learn that every rule has its exceptions. The young people rose and +wandered off on the lawn, while the Earl came back and said that he had +invited the foreigners to refresh themselves. + +'I saw Father Riccoboni in the hall, and asked him to speak to them a +little in their own lingo,' he added, 'though he does not appear to be +partial to the music of his native land.' + +'He seems to be of the Romansch districts,' Logan said; 'his accent is +almost German.' + +'I daresay he will make himself understood,' said the Earl. 'Do you +understand this house, Mr. Logan? It looks very modern, does it not?' + +'Early Georgian, surely?' said Logan. + +'The shell, at least on this side, is early Georgian--I rather regret it; +but the interior, northward, except for the rooms in front here, is of +the good old times. We have secret stairs--not that there is any secret +about them--and odd cubicles, in the old Border keep, which was re-faced +about 1750; and we have a priest's hole or two, in which Father Riccoboni +might have been safe, but would have been very uncomfortable, three +hundred years ago. I can show you the places to-morrow; indeed, we have +very little in the way of amusement to offer you. Do you fish?' + +'I always take a trout rod about with me, in case of the best,' said +Logan, 'but this is "soolky July," you know, and the trout usually seem +sound asleep.' + +'Their habits are dissipated here,' said Lord Embleton. 'They begin to +feed about ten o'clock at night. Did you ever try night fishing with the +bustard?' + +'The bustard?' asked Logan. + +'It is a big fluffy fly, like a draggled mayfly, fished wet, in the dark. +I used to be fond of it, but age,' sighed the Earl, 'and fear of +rheumatism have separated the bustard and me.' + +'I should like to try it very much,' said Logan. 'I often fished Tweed +and Whitadder, at night, when I was a boy, but we used a small dark fly.' + +'You must be very careful if you fish at night here,' said Lady Mary. 'It +is so dark in the valley under the woods, and the Coquet is so dangerous. +The flat sandstone ledges are like the floor of a room, and then a step +may land you in water ten feet deep, flowing in a narrow channel. I am +always anxious when anyone fishes here at night. You can swim?' + +Logan confessed that he was not destitute of that accomplishment, and +that he liked, of all things, to be by a darkling river, where you came +across the night side of nature in the way of birds, beasts, and fishes. + +'Mr. Logan can take very good care of himself, I am sure,' said Lord +Embleton, 'and Fenwick knows every inch of the water, and will go with +him. Fenwick is the water-keeper, Mr. Logan, and represents man in the +fishing and shooting stage. His one thought is the destruction of animal +life. He is a very happy man.' + +'I never knew but one keeper who was not,' said Logan. 'That was in +Galloway. He hated shooting, he hated fishing. My impression is that he +was what we call a "Stickit Minister."' + +'Nothing of that about Fenwick,' said the Earl. 'I daresay you would +like to see your room?' + +Thither Logan was conducted, through a hall hung with pikes, and guns, +and bows, and clubs from the South Seas, and Zulu shields and assegais, +while a few empty figures in tilting armour, lance in hand, stood on +pedestals. Thence up a broad staircase, along a little gallery, up a few +steps of an old 'turnpike' staircase, Logan reached his room, which +looked down through the trees of the cliff to the Coquet. + +Dinner passed in the silver light of the long northern day, that threw +strange blue reflections, softer than sapphire, on the ancient plate--the +ambassadorial plate of a Jacobean ancestor. + +'It should all have gone to the melting-pot for King Charles's service,' +said the Earl, with a sigh, 'but my ancestor of that day stood for the +Parliament.' + +Logan's position at dinner was better for observation than for +entertainment. He sat on the right hand of Lady Mary, where the Prince +ought to have been seated, but Lady Alice sat on her father's left, and +next her, of course, the Prince. 'Love rules the camp, the court, the +grove,' and Love deranged the accustomed order, for the Prince sat +between Lady Alice and Logan. Opposite Logan, and at Lady Mary's left, +was the Jesuit, and next him, Scremerston, beside whom was Miss +Willoughby, on the Earl's right. Inevitably the conversation of the +Prince and Lady Alice was mainly directed to each other--so much so that +Logan did not once perceive the princely eyes attracted to Miss +Willoughby opposite to him, though it was not easy for another to look at +anyone else. Logan, in the pauses of his rather conventional +entertainment by Lady Mary, _did_ look, and he was amazed no less by the +beauty than by the spirits and gaiety of the young lady so recently left +forlorn by the recreant Jephson. This flower of the Record Office and of +the British Museum was obviously not destined to blush unseen any longer. +She manifestly dazzled Scremerston, who seemed to remember Miss Bangs, +her charms, and her dollars no more than Miss Willoughby appeared to +remember the treacherous Don. + +Scremerston was very unlike his father: he was a small, rather fair man, +with a slight moustache, a close-clipped beard, and little grey eyes with +pink lids. His health was not good: he had been invalided home from the +Imperial Yeomanry, after a slight wound and a dangerous attack of enteric +fever, and he had secured a pair for the rest of the Session. He was not +very clever, but he certainly laughed sufficiently at what Miss +Willoughby said, who also managed to entertain the Earl with great +dexterity and _aplomb_. Meanwhile Logan and the Jesuit amused the +excellent Lady Mary as best they might, which was not saying much. Lady +Mary, though extremely amiable, was far from brilliant, and never having +met a Jesuit before, she regarded Father Riccoboni with a certain +hereditary horror, as an animal of a rare species, and, of habits perhaps +startling and certainly perfidious. However, the lady was philanthropic +in a rural way, and Father Riccoboni enlightened her as to the reasons +why his enterprising countrymen leave their smiling land, and open small +ice-shops in little English towns, or, less ambitious, invest their +slender capital in a monkey and a barrel-organ. + +'I don't so very much mind barrel-organs myself,' said Logan; 'I don't +know anything prettier than to see the little girls dancing to the music +in a London side street.' + +'But do not the musicians all belong to that dreadful Camorra?' asked the +lady. + +'Not if they come from the North, madam,' said the Jesuit. 'And do not +all your Irish reapers belong to that dreadful Land League, or whatever +it is called?' + +'They are all Pap---' said Lady Mary, who then stopped, blushed, and +said, with some presence of mind, 'paupers, I fear, but they are quite +safe and well-behaved on this side of the Irish Channel.' + +'And so are our poor people,' said the Jesuit. 'If they occasionally use +the knife a little--_naturam expellas furca_, Mr. Logan, but the knife is +a different thing--it is only in a homely war among themselves that they +handle it in the East-end of London.' + +'_Coelum non animum_,' said Logan, determined not to be outdone in +classical felicities; and, indeed, he thought his own quotation the more +appropriate. + +At this moment a great silvery-grey Persian cat, which had sat hitherto +in a stereotyped Egyptian attitude on the arm of the Earl's chair, leaped +down and sprang affectionately on the shoulder of the Jesuit. He +shuddered strongly and obviously repressed an exclamation with +difficulty, as he gently removed the cat. + +'Fie, Meriamoun!' said the Earl, as the puss resumed her Egyptian pose +beside him. 'Shall I send the animal out of the room? I know some +people cannot endure a cat,' and he mentioned the gallant Field Marshal +who is commonly supposed to share this infirmity. + +'By no means, my lord,' said the Jesuit, who looked strangely pale. 'Cats +have an extraordinary instinct for caressing people who happen to be born +with exactly the opposite instinct. I am like the man in Aristotle who +was afraid of the cat.' + +'I wish we knew more about that man,' said Miss Willoughby, who was +stroking Meriamoun. 'Are _you_ afraid of cats, Lord Scremerston?--but +you, I suppose, are afraid of nothing.' + +'I am terribly afraid of all manner of flying things that buzz and bite,' +said Scremerston. + +'Except bullets,' said Miss Willoughby--Beauty rewarding Valour with a +smile and a glance so dazzling that the good little Yeoman blushed with +pleasure. + +'It is a shame!' thought Logan. 'I don't like it now I see it.' + +'As to horror of cats,' said the Earl, 'I suppose evolution can explain +it. I wonder how they would work it out in _Science Jottings_. There is +a great deal of electricity in a cat.' + +'Evolution can explain everything,' said the Jesuit demurely, 'but who +can explain evolution?' + +'As to electricity in the cat,' said Logan, 'I daresay there is as much +in the dog, only everybody has tried stroking a cat in the dark to see +the sparks fly, and who ever tried stroking a dog in the dark, for +experimental purposes?--did you, Lady Mary?' + +Lady Mary never had tried, but the idea was new to her, and she would +make the experiment in winter. + +'Deer skins, stroked, do sparkle,' said Logan, 'I read that in a book. I +daresay horses do, only nobody tries. I don't think electricity is the +explanation of why some people can't bear cats.' + +'Electricity is the modern explanation of everything--love, faith, +everything,' remarked the Jesuit; 'but, as I said, who shall explain +electricity?' + +Lady Mary, recognising the orthodoxy of these sentiments, felt more +friendly towards Father Riccoboni. He might be a Jesuit, but he was +_bien pensant_. + +'What I am afraid of is not a cat, but a mouse,' said Miss Willoughby, +and the two other ladies admitted that their own terrors were of the same +kind. + +'What I am afraid of,' said the Prince, 'is a banging door, by day or +night. I am not, otherwise, of a nervous constitution, but if I hear a +door bang, I _must_ go and hunt for it, and stop the noise, either by +shutting the door, or leaving it wide open. I am a sound sleeper, but, +if a door bangs, it wakens me at once. I try not to notice it. I hope +it will leave off. Then it does leave off--that is the artfulness of +it--and, just as you are falling asleep, _knock_ it goes! A double +knock, sometimes. Then I simply _must_ get up, and hunt for that door, +upstairs or downstairs--' + +'Or in my--' interrupted Miss Willoughby, and stopped, thinking better of +it, and not finishing the quotation, which passed unheard. + +'That research has taken me into some odd places,' the Prince ended; and +Logan reminded the Society of the Bravest of the Brave. What _he_ was +afraid of was a pair of tight boots. + +These innocent conversations ended, and, after dinner, the company walked +about or sat beneath the stars in the fragrant evening air, the Earl +seated by Miss Willoughby, Scremerston smoking with Logan; while the +white dress of Lady Alice flitted ghost-like on the lawn, and the tip of +the Prince's cigar burned red in the neighbourhood. In the drawing-room +Lady Mary was tentatively conversing with the Jesuit, that mild but +probably dangerous animal. She had the curiosity which pious maiden +ladies feel about the member of a community which they only know through +novels. Certainly this Jesuit was very unlike Aramis. + +'And who _is_ he like?' Logan happened to be asking Scremerston at that +moment. 'I know the face--I know the voice; hang it!--where have I seen +the man?' + +'Now you mention it,' said Scremerston, '_I_ seem to remember him too. +But I can't place him. What do you think of a game of billiards, +father?' he asked, rising and addressing Lord Embleton. 'Rosamond--Miss +Willoughby, I mean--' + +'Oh, we are cousins, Lord Embleton says, and you may call me Rosamond. I +have never had any cousins before,' interrupted the young lady. + +'Rosamond,' said Scremerston, with a gulp, 'is getting on wonderfully +well for a beginner.' + +'Then let us proceed with her education: it is growing chilly, too,' said +the Earl; and they all went to billiards, the Jesuit marking with much +attention and precision. Later he took a cue, and was easily the master +of every man there, though better acquainted, he said, with the foreign +game. The late Pope used to play, he said, nearly as well as Mr. Herbert +Spencer. Even for a beginner, Miss Willoughby was not a brilliant +player; but she did not cut the cloth, and her arms were remarkably +beautiful--an excellent but an extremely rare thing in woman. She was +rewarded, finally, by a choice between bedroom candles lit and offered by +her younger and her elder cousins, and, after a momentary hesitation, +accepted that of the Earl. + +'How is this going to end?' thought Logan, when he was alone. 'Miss +Bangs is out of the running, that is certain: millions of dollars cannot +bring her near Miss Willoughby with Scremerston. The old gentleman ought +to like that--it relieves him from the bacon and lard, and the dollars, +and the associations with a Straddle; and then Miss Willoughby's family +is all right, but the girl is reckless. A demon has entered into her: +she used to be so quiet. I'd rather marry Miss Bangs without the +dollars. Then it is all very well for Scremerston to yield to Venus +Verticordia, and transfer his heart to this new enchantress. But, if I +am not mistaken, the Earl himself is much more kind than kin. The heart +has no age, and he is a very well-preserved peer. You might take him for +little more than forty, though he quite looked his years when I saw him +first. Well, _I_ am safe enough, in spite of Merton's warning: this new +Helen has no eyes for me, and the Prince has no eyes for her, I think. +But who is the Jesuit?' + +Logan fought with his memory till he fell asleep, but he recovered no +gleam of recollection about the holy man. + +It did not seem to Logan, next day, that he was in for a very lively +holiday. His host carried off Miss Willoughby to the muniment-room after +breakfast; that was an advantage he had over Scremerston, who was +decidedly restless and ill at ease. He took Logan to see the keeper, and +they talked about fish and examined local flies, and Logan arranged to go +and try the trout with the bustard some night; and then they pottered +about, and ate cherries in the garden, and finally the Earl found them +half asleep in the smoking-room. He routed the Jesuit out of the +library, where he was absorbed in a folio containing the works of the +sainted Father Parsons, and then the Earl showed Logan and Father +Riccoboni over the house. From a window of the gallery Scremerston could +be descried playing croquet with Miss Willoughby, an apparition radiant +in white. + +The house was chiefly remarkable for queer passages, which, beginning +from the roof of the old tower, above the Father's chamber, radiated +about, emerging in unexpected places. The priests' holes had offered to +the persecuted clergy of old times the choice between being grilled erect +behind a chimney, or of lying flat in a chamber about the size of a +coffin near the roof, where the martyr Jesuits lived on suction, like the +snipe, absorbing soup from a long straw passed through a wall into a +neighbouring garret. + +'Those were cruel times,' said Father Riccoboni, who presently, at +luncheon, showed that he could thoroughly appreciate the tender mercies +of the present or Christian era. Logan watched him, and once when, +something that interested him being said, the Father swept the table with +his glance without raising his head, a memory for a fraction of a moment +seemed to float towards the surface of Logan's consciousness. Even as +when an angler, having hooked a salmon, a monster of the stream, long the +fish bores down impetuous, seeking the sunken rocks, disdainful of the +steel, and the dark wave conceals him; then anon is beheld a gleam of +silver, and again is lost to view, and the heart of the man rejoices--even +so fugitive a glimpse had Logan of what he sought in the depths of +memory. But it fled, and still he was puzzled. + +Logan loafed out after luncheon to a seat on the lawn in the shade of a +tree. They were all to be driven over to an Abbey not very far away, +for, indeed, in July, there is little for a man to do in the country. +Logan sat and mused. Looking up he saw Miss Willoughby approaching, +twirling an open parasol on her shoulder. Her face was radiant; of old +it had often looked as if it might be stormy, as if there were thunder +behind those dark eyebrows. Logan rose, but the lady sat down on the +garden seat, and he followed her example. + +'This is better than Bloomsbury, Mr. Logan, and cocoa _pour tout potage_: +singed cocoa usually.' + +'The _potage_ here is certainly all that heart can wish,' said Logan. + +'The chrysalis,' said Miss Willoughby, 'in its wildest moments never +dreamed of being a butterfly, as the man said in the sermon; and I feel +like a butterfly that remembers being a chrysalis. Look at me now!' + +'I could look for ever,' said Logan, 'like the sportsman in Keats's +_Grecian Urn_: "For ever let me look, and thou be fair!"' + +'I am so sorry for people in town,' said Miss Willoughby. 'Don't you +wish dear old Milo was here?' + +Milo was the affectionate nickname--a tribute to her charms--borne by +Miss Markham at St. Ursula's. + +'How can I wish that anyone was here but you?' asked Logan. 'But, +indeed, as to her being here, I should like to know in what capacity she +was a guest.' + +The Clytemnestra glance came into Miss Willoughby's grey eyes for a +moment, but she was not to be put out of humour. + +'To be here as a kinswoman, and an historian, with a maid--fancy me with +a maid!--and everything handsome about me, is sufficiently excellent for +me, Mr. Logan; and if it were otherwise, do you disapprove of the +proceedings of your own Society? But there is Lord Scremerston calling +to us, and a four-in-hand waiting at the door. And I am to sit on the +box-seat. Oh, this is better than the dingy old Record Office all day.' + +With these words Miss Willoughby tripped over the sod as lightly as the +Fairy Queen, and Logan slowly followed. No; he did _not_ approve of the +proceedings of his Society as exemplified by Miss Willoughby, and he was +nearly guilty of falling asleep during the drive to Winderby Abbey. +Scremerston was not much more genial, for his father was driving and +conversing very gaily with his fair kinswoman. + +'Talk about a distant cousin!' thought Logan, who in fact felt +ill-treated. However deep in love a man may be, he does not like to see +a fair lady conspicuously much more interested in other members of his +sex than in himself. + +The Abbey was a beautiful ruin, and Father Riccoboni did not conceal from +Lady Mary the melancholy emotions with which it inspired him. + +'When shall our prayers be heard?' he murmured. 'When shall England +return to her Mother's bosom?' + +Lady Mary said nothing, but privately trusted that the winds would +disperse the orisons of which the Father spoke. Perhaps nuns had been +bricked up in these innocent-looking mossy walls, thought Lady Mary, +whose ideas on this matter were derived from a scene in the poem of +_Marmion_. And deep in Lady Mary's heart was a half-formed wish that, if +there was to be any bricking up, Miss Willoughby might be the interesting +victim. Unlike her brother the Earl, she was all for the Bangs alliance. + +Scremerston took the reins on the homeward way, the Earl being rather +fatigued; and, after dinner, _two_ white robes flitted ghost-like on the +lawn, and the light which burned red beside one of them was the cigar-tip +of Scremerston. The Earl had fallen asleep in the drawing-room, and +Logan took a lonely stroll, much regretting that he had come to a house +where he felt decidedly 'out of it.' He wandered down to the river, and +stood watching. He was beside the dark-brown water in the latest +twilight, beside a long pool with a boat moored on the near bank. He sat +down in the boat pensively, and then--what was that? It was the sound of +a heavy trout rising. '_Plop_, _plop_!' They were feeding all round +him. + +'By Jove! I'll try the bustard to-morrow night, and then I'll go back to +town next day,' thought Logan. 'I am doing no good here, and I don't +like it. I shall tell Merton that I have moral objections to the whole +affair. Miserable, mercenary fraud!' Thus, feeling very moral and +discontented, Logan walked back to the house, carefully avoiding the +ghostly robes that still glimmered on the lawn, and did not re-enter the +house till bedtime. + +The following day began as the last had done; Lord Embleton and Miss +Willoughby retiring to the muniment-room, the lovers vanishing among the +walks. Scremerston later took Logan to consult Fenwick, who visibly +brightened at the idea of night-fishing. + +'You must take one of those long landing-nets, Logan,' said Scremerston. +'They are about as tall as yourself, and as stout as lance-shafts. They +are for steadying you when you wade, and feeling the depth of the water +in front of you.' + +Scremerston seemed very pensive. The day was hot; they wandered to the +smoking-room. Scremerston took up a novel, which he did not read; Logan +began a letter to Merton--a gloomy epistle. + +'I say, Logan,' suddenly said Scremerston, 'if your letter is not very +important, I wish you would listen to me for a moment.' + +Logan turned round. 'Fire away,' he said; 'my letter can wait.' + +Scremerston was in an attitude of deep dejection. Logan lit a cigarette +and waited. + +'Logan, I am the most miserable beggar alive.' + +'What is the matter? You seem rather in-and-out in your moods,' said +Logan. + +'Why, you know, I am in a regular tight place. I don't know how to put +it. You see, I can't help thinking that--that--I have rather committed +myself--it seems a beastly conceited thing to say--that there's a girl +who likes me, I'm afraid.' + +'I don't want to be inquisitive, but is she in this country?' asked +Logan. + +'No; she's at Homburg.' + +'Has it gone very far? Have you _said_ anything?' asked Logan. + +'No; my father did not like it. I hoped to bring him round.' + +'Have you _written_ anything? Do you correspond?' + +'No, but I'm afraid I have _looked_ a lot.' + +As the Viscount Scremerston's eyes were by no means fitted to express +with magnetic force the language of the affections, Logan had to command +his smile. + +'But why have you changed your mind, if you liked her?' he asked. + +'Oh, _you_ know very well! Can anybody see her and not love her?' said +Scremerston, with a vagueness in his pronouns, but referring to Miss +Willoughby. + +Logan was inclined to reply that he could furnish, at first hand, an +exception to the rule, but this appeared tactless. + +'No one, I daresay, whose affections were not already engaged, could see +her without loving her; but I thought yours had been engaged to a lady +now at Homburg?' + +'So did I,' said the wretched Scremerston, 'but I was mistaken. Oh, +Logan, you don't know the difference! _This_ is genuine biz,' remarked +the afflicted nobleman with much simplicity. He went on: 'Then there's +my father--you know him. He was against the other affair, but, if he +thinks I have committed myself and then want to back out, why, with his +ideas, he'd rather see me dead. But I can't go on with the other thing +now: I simply can _not_. I've a good mind to go out after rabbits, and +pot myself crawling through a hedge.' + +'Oh, nonsense!' said Logan; 'that is stale and superfluous. For all that +I can see, there is no harm done. The young lady, depend upon it, won't +break her heart. As a matter of fact, they don't--_we_ do. You have +only to sit tight. You are no more committed than I am. You would only +make both of you wretched if you went and committed yourself now, when +you don't want to do it. In your position I would certainly sit tight: +don't commit yourself--either here or there, so to speak; or, if you +can't sit tight, make a bolt for it. Go to Norway. I am very strongly +of opinion that the second plan is the best. But, anyhow, keep up your +pecker. You are all right--I give you my word that I think you are all +right.' + +'Thanks, old cock,' said Scremerston. 'Sorry to have bored you, but I +_had_ to speak to somebody.' + +* * * * * * + +'Best thing you could do,' said Logan. 'You'll feel ever so much better. +That kind of worry comes of keeping things to oneself, till molehills +look mountains. If you like I'll go with you to Norway myself.' + +'Thanks, awfully,' said Scremerston, but he did not seem very keen. Poor +little Scremerston! + +Logan 'breasted the brae' from the riverside to the house. His wading- +boots were heavy, for he had twice got in over the tops thereof; heavy +was his basket that Fenwick carried behind him, but light was Logan's +heart, for the bustard had slain its dozens of good trout. He and the +keeper emerged from the wood on the level of the lawn. All the great +mass of the house lay dark before them. Logan was to let himself in by +the locked French window; for it was very late--about two in the morning. +He had the key of the window-door in his pocket. A light moved through +the long gallery: he saw it pass each window and vanish. There was dead +silence: not a leaf stirred. Then there rang out a pistol-shot, or was +it two pistol-shots? Logan ran for the window, his rod, which he had +taken down after fishing, in his hand. + +'Hurry to the back door, Fenwick!' he said; and Fenwick, throwing down +the creel, but grasping the long landing-net, flew to the back way. Logan +opened the drawing-room window, took out his matchbox, with trembling +ringers lit a candle, and, with the candle in one hand, the rod in the +other, sped through the hall, and along a back passage leading to the +gunroom. He had caught a glimpse of the Earl running down the main +staircase, and had guessed that the trouble was on the ground floor. As +he reached the end of the long dark passage, Fenwick leaped in by the +back entrance, of which the door was open. What Logan saw was a writhing +group--the Prince of Scalastro struggling in the arms of three men: a +long white heap lay crumpled in a corner. Fenwick, at this moment, threw +the landing-net over the head of one of the Prince's assailants, and with +a twist, held the man half choked and powerless. Fenwick went on +twisting, and, with the leverage of the long shaft of the net, dragged +the wretch off the Prince, and threw him down. Another of the men turned +on Logan with a loud guttural oath, and was raising a pistol. Logan knew +the voice at last--knew the Jesuit now. '_Rien ne va plus_!' he cried, +and lunged, with all the force and speed of an expert fencer, at the +fellow's face with the point of the rod. The metal joints clicked and +crashed through the man's mouth, his pistol dropped, and he staggered, +cursing through his blood, against the wall. Logan picked up the +revolver as the Prince, whose hands were now free, floored the third of +his assailants with an upper cut. Logan thrust the revolver into the +Prince's hand. 'Keep them quiet with that,' he said, and ran to where +the Earl, who had entered unseen in the struggle, was kneeling above the +long, white, crumpled heap. + +It was Scremerston, dead, in his night dress: poor plucky little +Scremerston. + +* * * * * * + +Afterwards, before the trial, the Prince told Logan how matters had +befallen. 'I was wakened,' he said--'you were very late, you know, and +we had all gone to bed--I was wakened by a banging door. If you +remember, I told you all, on the night of your arrival at Rookchester, +how I hated that sound. I tried not to think of it, and was falling +asleep when it banged again--a double knock. I was nearly asleep, when +it clashed again. There was no wind, my window was open and I looked +out: I only heard the river murmuring and the whistle of a passing train. +The stillness made the abominable recurrent noise more extraordinary. I +dressed in a moment in my smoking-clothes, lit a candle, and went out of +my room, listening. I walked along the gallery--' + +'It was your candle that I saw as I crossed the lawn,' said Logan. + +'When a door opened,' the Prince went on--'the door of one of the rooms +on the landing--and a figure, all in white,--it was Scremerston,--emerged +and disappeared down the stairs. I followed at the top of my speed. I +heard a shot, or rather two pistols that rang out together like one. I +ran through the hall into the long back passage at right-angles to it, +down the passage to the glimmer of light through the partly glazed door +at the end of it. Then my candle was blown out and three men set on me. +They had nearly pinioned me when you and Fenwick took them on both +flanks. You know the rest. They had the boat unmoored, a light cart +ready on the other side, and a steam-yacht lying off Warkworth. The +object, of course, was to kidnap me, and coerce or torture me into +renewing the lease of the tables at Scalastro. Poor Scremerston, who was +a few seconds ahead of me, not carrying a candle, had fired in the dark, +and missed. The answering fire, which was simultaneous, killed him. The +shots saved me, for they brought you and Fenwick to the rescue. Two of +the fellows whom we damaged were--' + +'The Genoese pipers, of course,' said Logan. + +'And you guessed, from the cry you gave, who my confessor (_he_ banged +the door, of course to draw me) turned out to be?' + +'Yes, the head croupier at Scalastro years ago; but he wore a beard and +blue spectacles in the old time, when he raked in a good deal of my +patrimony,' said Logan. 'But how was he planted on _you_?' + +'My old friend, Father Costa, had died, and it is too long a tale of +forgery and fraud to tell you how this wretch was forced on me. He _had_ +been a Jesuit, but was unfrocked and expelled from Society for all sorts +of namable and unnamable offences. His community believed that he was +dead. So he fell to the profession in which you saw him, and, when the +gambling company saw that I was disinclined to let that hell burn any +longer on my rock, ingenious treachery did the rest.' + +'By Jove!' said Logan. + +* * * * * + +The Prince of Scalastro, impoverished by his own generous impulse, now +holds high rank in the Japanese service. His beautiful wife is much +admired in Yokohama. + +The Earl was nursed through the long and dangerous illness which followed +the shock of that dreadful July night, by the unwearying assiduity of his +kinswoman, Miss Willoughby. On his recovery, the bride (for the Earl won +her heart and hand) who stood by him at the altar looked fainter and more +ghostly than the bridegroom. But her dark hour of levity was passed and +over. There is no more affectionate pair than the Earl and Countess of +Embleton. Lady Mary, who lives with them, is once more an aunt, and +spoils, it is to be feared, the young Viscount Scremerston, a fine but +mischievous little boy. On the fate of the ex-Jesuit we do not dwell: +enough to say that his punishment was decreed by the laws of our country, +not of that which he had disgraced. + +The manuscripts of the Earl have been edited by him and the Countess for +the Roxburghe Club. + + + + +VIII. THE ADVENTURE OF THE LADY PATRONESS + + +'I cannot bring myself to refuse my assent. It would break the dear +child's heart. She has never cared for anyone else, and, oh, she is +quite wrapped up in him. I have heard of your wonderful cures, Mr. +Merton, I mean successes, in cases which everyone has given up, and +though it seems a very strange step to me, I thought that I ought to +shrink from no remedy'-- + +'However unconventional,' said Merton, smiling. He felt rather as if he +were being treated like a quack doctor, to whom people (if foolish +enough) appeal only as the last desperate resource. + +The lady who filled, and amply filled, the client's chair, Mrs. Malory, +of Upwold in Yorkshire, was a widow, obviously, a widow indeed. 'In +weed' was an unworthy _calembour_ which flashed through Merton's mind, +since Mrs. Malory's undying regret for her lord (a most estimable man for +a coal owner) was explicitly declared, or rather was blazoned abroad, in +her costume. Mrs. Mallory, in fact, was what is derisively styled 'Early +Victorian'--'Middle' would have been, historically, more accurate. Her +religion was mildly Evangelical; she had been brought up on the Memoirs +of the Fairchild Family, by Mrs. Sherwood, tempered by Miss Yonge and the +Waverley Novels. On these principles she had trained her family. The +result was that her sons had not yet brought the family library, and the +family Romneys and Hoppners, to Christie's. Not one of them was a +director of any company, and the name of Malory had not yet been +distinguished by decorating the annals of the Courts of Bankruptcy or of +Divorce. In short, a family more deplorably not 'up to date,' and more +'out of the swim' could scarcely be found in England. + +Such, and of such connections, was the lady, fair, faded, with mildly +aquiline features, and an aspect at once distinguished and dowdy, who +appealed to Merton. She sought him in what she, at least, regarded as +the interests of her eldest daughter, an heiress under the will of a +maternal uncle. Merton had met the young lady, who looked like a +portrait of her mother in youth. He knew that Miss Malory, now 'wrapped +up in' her betrothed lover, would, in a few years, be equally absorbed in +'her boys.' She was pretty, blonde, dull, good, and cast by Providence +for the part of one of the best of mothers, and the despair of what man +soever happened to sit next her at a dinner party. Such women are the +safeguards of society--though sneered at by the frivolous as 'British +Matrons.' + +'I have laid the case before the--where I always take my troubles,' said +Mrs. Malory, 'and I have not felt restrained from coming to consult you. +When I permitted my daughter's engagement (of course after carefully +examining the young man's worldly position) I was not aware of what I +know now. Matilda met him at a visit to some neighbours--he really is +very attractive, and very attentive--and it was not till we came to +London for the season that I heard the stories about him. Some of them +have been pointed out to me, in print, in the dreadful French newspapers, +others came to me in anonymous letters. As far as a mother may, I tried +to warn Matilda, but there are subjects on which one can hardly speak to +a girl. The Vidame, in fact,' said Mrs. Malory, blushing, 'is +celebrated--I should say infamous--both in France and Italy, Poland too, +as what they call _un homme aux bonnes fortunes_. He has caused the +break-up of several families. Mr. Merton, he is a rake,' whispered the +lady, in some confusion. + +'He is still young; he may reform,' said Merton, 'and no doubt a pure +affection will be the saving of him.' + +'So Matilda believes, but, though a Protestant--his ancestors having left +France after the Revocation of the Edict of Nancy--Nantes I mean--I am +certain that he is _not_ under conviction.' + +'Why does he call himself Vidame, "the Vidame de la Lain"?' asked Merton. + +'It is an affectation,' said Mrs. Malory. 'None of his family used the +title in England, but he has been much on the Continent, and has lands in +France; and, I suppose, has romantic ideas. He is as much French as +English, more I am afraid. The wickedness of that country! And I fear +it has affected ours. Even now--I am not a scandal-monger, and I hope +for the best--but even last winter he was talked about,' Mrs. Malory +dropped her voice, 'with a lady whose husband is in America, Mrs. Brown- +Smith.' + +'A lady for whom I have the very highest esteem,' said Merton, for, +indeed, Mrs. Brown-Smith was one of his references or Lady Patronesses; +he knew her well, and had a respect for her character, _au fond_, as well +as an admiration for her charms. + +'You console me indeed,' said Mrs. Malory. 'I had heard--' + +'People talk a great deal of ill-natured nonsense,' said Merton warmly. +'Do you know Mrs. Brown-Smith?' + +'We have met, but we are not in the same set; we have exchanged visits, +but that is all.' + +'Ah!' said Merton thoughtfully. He remembered that when his enterprise +was founded Mrs. Brown-Smith had kindly offered her practical services, +and that he had declined them for the moment. 'Mrs. Malory,' he went on, +after thinking awhile, 'may I take your case into my consideration--the +marriage is not till October, you say, we are in June--and I may ask for +a later interview? Of course you shall be made fully aware of every +detail, and nothing shall be done without your approval. In fact all +will depend on your own co-operation. I don't deny that there may be +distasteful things, but if you are quite sure about this gentleman's--' + +'Character?' said Mrs. Malory. 'I am _so_ sure that it has cost me many +a wakeful hour. You will earn my warmest gratitude if you can do +anything.' + +'Almost everything will depend on your own energy, and tolerance of our +measures.' + +'But we must not do evil that good may come,' said Mrs. Malory nervously. + +'No evil is contemplated,' said Merton. But Mrs. Malory, while +consenting, so far, did not seem quite certain that her estimate of +'evil' and Merton's would be identical. + +She had suffered poignantly, as may be supposed, before she set the +training of a lifetime aside, and consulted a professional expert. But +the urbanity and patience of Merton, with the high and unblemished +reputation of his Association, consoled her. 'We must yield where we +innocently may,' she assured herself, 'to the changes of the times. Lest +one good order' (and ah, how good the Early Victorian order had been!) +'should corrupt the world.' Mrs. Malory knew that line of poetry. Then +she remembered that Mrs. Brown-Smith was on the list of Merton's +references, and that reassured her, more or less. + +As for Merton, he evolved a plan in his mind, and consulted Bradshaw's +invaluable Railway Guide. + +On the following night Merton was fortunate or adroit enough to find +himself seated beside Mrs. Brown-Smith in a conservatory at a party given +by the Montenegrin Ambassador. Other occupants of the fairy-like bower +of blossoms, musical with all the singing of the innumerable fountains, +could not but know (however preoccupied) that Mrs. Brown-Smith was being +amused. Her laughter 'rang merry and loud,' as the poet says, though not +a word of her whispered conversation was audible. Conservatories (in +novels) are dangerous places for confidences, but the pale and angry face +of Miss Malory did _not_ suddenly emerge from behind a grove of +gardenias, and startle the conspirators. Indeed, Miss Malory was not +present; she and her sister had no great share in the elegant frivolities +of the metropolis. + +'It all fits in beautifully,' said Mrs. Brown-Smith. 'Just let me look +at the page of Bradshaw again.' Merton handed to her a page of closely +printed matter. '9.17 P.M., 9.50 P.M.' read Mrs. Brown-Smith aloud; 'it +gives plenty of time in case of delays. Oh, this is too delicious! You +are sure that these trains won't be altered. It might be awkward.' + +'I consulted Anson,' said Merton. Anson was famous for his mastery of +time-tables, and his prescience as to railway arrangements. + +'Of course it depends on the widow,' said Mrs. Brown-Smith, 'I shall see +that Johnnie is up to time. He hopes to undersell the opposition soap' +(Mr. Brown-Smith was absent in America, in the interests of that soap of +his which is familiar to all), 'and he is in the best of humours. Then +their grouse! We have disease on our moors in Perthshire; I was in +despair. But the widow needs delicate handling.' + +'You won't forget--I know how busy you are--her cards for your party?' + +'They shall be posted before I sleep the sleep of conscious innocence.' + +'And real benevolence,' said Merton. + +'And revenge,' added Mrs. Brown-Smith. 'I have heard of his bragging, +the monster. He has talked about _me_. And I remember how he treated +Violet Lebas.' + +At this moment the Vidame de la Lain, a tall, fair young man, vastly too +elegant, appeared, and claimed Mrs. Brown-Smith for a dance. With a look +at Merton, and a sound which, from less perfect lips, might have been +described as a suppressed giggle, Mrs. Brown-Smith rose, then turning, +'Post the page to me, Mr. Merton,' she said. Merton bowed, and, folding +up the page of the time-table, he consigned it to his cigarette case. + +* * * * * * + +Mrs. Malory received, with a blending of emotions, the invitation to the +party of Mrs. Brown-Smith. The social popularity and the wealth of the +hostess made such invitations acceptable. But the wealth arose from +trade, in soap, not in coal, and coal (like the colza bean) is 'a product +of the soil,' the result of creative forces which, in the geological +past, have worked together for the good of landed families. Soap, on the +other hand, is the result of human artifice, and is certainly advertised +with more of emphasis and of ingenuity than of delicacy. But, by her own +line of descent, Mrs. Brown-Smith came from a Scottish house of ancient +standing, historically renowned for its assassins, traitors, and time- +servers. This partly washed out the stain of soap. Again, Mrs. Malory +had heard the name of Mrs. Brown-Smith taken in vain, and that in a +matter nearly affecting her Matilda's happiness. On the other side, +Merton had given the lady a valuable testimonial to character. Moreover, +the Vidame would be at her party, and Mrs. Malory told herself that she +could study the ground. Above all, the girls were so anxious to go: they +seldom had such a chance. Therefore, while the Early Victorian moralist +hesitated, the mother accepted. + +They were all glad that they went. Susan, the younger Miss Malory, +enjoyed herself extremely. Matilda danced with the Vidame as often as +her mother approved. The conduct of Mrs. Brown-Smith was correctness +itself. She endeared herself to the girls: invited them to her place in +Perthshire, and warmly congratulated Mrs. Malory on the event approaching +in her family. The eye of maternal suspicion could detect nothing amiss. +Thanks mainly to Mrs. Brown-Smith, the girls found the season an earthly +Paradise: and Mrs. Malory saw much more of the world than she had ever +done before. But she remained vigilant, and on the alert. Before the +end of July she had even conceived the idea of inviting Mrs. Brown-Smith, +fatigued by her toils, to inhale the bracing air of Upwold in the moors. +But she first consulted Merton, who expressed his warm approval. + +'It is dangerous, though she has been so kind,' sighed Mrs. Malory. 'I +have observed nothing to justify the talk which I have heard, but I am in +doubt.' + +'Dangerous! it is safety,' said Merton. + +'How?' + +Merton braced himself for the most delicate and perilous part of his +enterprise. + +'The Vidame de la Lain will be staying with you?' + +'Naturally,' said Mrs. Malory. 'And if there _is_ any truth in what was +whispered--' + +'He will be subject to temptation,' said Merton. + +'Mrs. Brown-Smith is so pretty and so amusing, and dear Matilda; she +takes after my dear husband's family, though the best of girls, Matilda +has not that flashing manner.' + +'But surely no such thing as temptation should exist for a man so +fortunate as de la Lain! And if it did, would his conduct not confirm +what you have heard, and open the eyes of Miss Malory?' + +'It seems so odd to be discussing such things with--so young a man as +you--not even a relation,' sighed Mrs. Malory. + +'I can withdraw at once,' said Merton. + +'Oh no, please don't speak of that! I am not really at all happy yet +about my daughter's future.' + +'Well, suppose the worst by way of argument; suppose that you saw, that +Miss Malory saw--' + +'Matilda has always refused to see or to listen, and has spoken of the +reforming effects of a pure affection. She would be hard, indeed, to +convince that anything was wrong, but, once certain--I know Matilda's +character--she would never forgive the insult, never.' + +'And you would rather that she suffered some present distress?' + +'Than that she was tied for life to a man who could cause it? Certainly +I would.' + +'Then, Mrs. Malory, as it _is_ awkward to discuss these intimate matters +with me, might I suggest that you should have an interview with Mrs. +Brown-Smith herself? I assure you that you can trust her, and I happen +to know that her view of the man about whom we are talking is exactly +your own. More I could say as to her reasons and motives, but we +entirely decline to touch on the past or to offer any opinion about the +characters of our patients--the persons about whose engagements we are +consulted. He might have murdered his grandmother or robbed a church, +but my lips would be sealed.' + +'Do you not think that Mrs. Brown-Smith would be very much surprised if I +consulted her?' + +'I know that she takes a sincere interest in Miss Malory, and that her +advice would be excellent--though perhaps rather startling,' said Merton. + +'I dislike it very much. The world has altered terribly since I was +Matilda's age,' said Mrs. Malory; 'but I should never forgive myself if I +neglected any precaution, and I shall take your advice. I shall consult +Mrs. Brown-Smith.' + +Merton thus retreated from what even he regarded as a difficult and +delicate affair. He fell back on his reserves; and Mrs. Brown-Smith +later gave an account of what passed between herself and the +representative of an earlier age: + +'She first, when she had invited me to her dreary place, explained that +we ought not, she feared, to lead others into temptation. "If you think +that man, de la Lain's temptation is to drag my father's name, and my +husband's, in the dust," I answered, "let me tell you that _I_ have a +temptation also." + +'"Dear Mrs. Brown-Smith," she answered, "this is indeed honourable +candour. Not for the world would I be the occasion--" + +'I interrupted her, "_My_ temptation is to make him the laughing stock of +his acquaintance, and, if he has the impudence to give me the +opportunity, I _will_!" And then I told her, without names, of course, +that story about this Vidame Potter and Violet Lebas.' + +'I did _not_,' said Merton. 'But why Vidame Potter?' + +'His father was a Mr. Potter; his grandfather married a Miss Lalain--I +know all about it--and this creature has wormed out, or invented, some +story of a Vidameship, or whatever it is, hereditary in the female line, +and has taken the title. And this is the man who has had the +impertinence to talk about _me_, a Ker of Graden.' + +'But did not the story you speak of make her see that she must break off +her daughter's engagement?' + +'No. She was very much distressed, but said that her daughter Matilda +would never believe it.' + +'And so you are to go to Upwold?' + +'Yes, it is a mournful place; I never did anything so good-natured. And, +with the widow's knowledge, I am to do as I please till the girl's eyes +are opened. I think it will need that stratagem we spoke of to open +them.' + +'You are sure that you will be in no danger from evil tongues?' + +'They say, What say they? Let them say,' answered Mrs. Brown-Smith, +quoting the motto of the Keiths. + +The end of July found Mrs. Brown-Smith at Upwold, where it is to be hoped +that the bracing qualities of the atmosphere made up for the want of +congenial society. Susan Malory had been discreetly sent away on a +visit. None of the men of the family had arrived. There was a party of +local neighbours, who did not feel the want of anything to do, but lived +in dread of flushing the Vidame and Matilda out of a window seat whenever +they entered a room. + +As for the Vidame, being destitute of all other entertainment, he made +love in a devoted manner. + +But at dinner, after Mrs. Brown-Smith's arrival, though he sat next +Matilda, Mrs. Malory saw that his eyes were mainly bent on the lady +opposite. The ping-pong of conversation, even, was played between him +and Mrs. Brown-Smith across the table: the county neighbours were quite +lost in their endeavours to follow the flight of the ball. Though the +drawing-room window, after dinner, was open on the fragrant lawn, though +Matilda sat close by it, in her wonted place, the Vidame was hanging over +the chair of the visitor, and later, played billiards with her, a game at +which Matilda did not excel. At family prayers next morning (the service +was conducted by Mrs. Malory) the Vidame appeared with a white rosebud in +his buttonhole, Mrs. Brown-Smith wearing its twin sister. He took her to +the stream in the park where she fished, Matilda following in a drooping +manner. The Vidame was much occupied in extracting the flies from the +hair of Mrs. Brown-Smith, in which they were frequently entangled. After +luncheon he drove with the two ladies and Mrs. Malory to the country +town, the usual resource of ladies in the country, and though he sat next +Matilda, Mrs. Brown-Smith was beaming opposite, and the pair did most of +the talking. While Mrs. Malory and her daughter shopped, it was the +Vidame who took Mrs. Brown-Smith to inspect the ruins of the Abbey. The +county neighbours had left in the morning, a new set arrived, and while +Matilda had to entertain them, it was Mrs Brown-Smith whom the Vidame +entertained. + +This kind of thing went on; when Matilda was visiting her cottagers it +was the Vidame and Mrs. Brown-Smith whom visitors flushed in window +seats. They wondered that Mrs. Malory had asked so dangerous a woman to +the house: they marvelled that she seemed quite radiant and devoted to +her lively visitor. There was a school feast: it was the Vidame who +arranged hurdle-races for children of both sexes (so improper!), and who +started the competitors. + +Meanwhile Mrs. Malory, so unusually genial in public, held frequent +conventicles with Matilda in private. But Matilda declined to be +jealous; they were only old friends, she said, these flagitious two; Dear +Anne (that was the Vidame's Christian name) was all that she could wish. + +'You know the place is _so_ dull, mother,' the brave girl said. 'Even +grandmamma, who was a saint, says so in her _Domestic Outpourings_' +(religious memoirs privately printed in 1838). 'We cannot amuse Mrs. +Brown-Smith, and it is so kind and chivalrous of Anne.' + +'To neglect you?' + +'No, to do duty for Tom and Dick,' who were her brothers, and who would +not greatly have entertained the fair visitor had they been present. + +Matilda was the kind of woman whom we all adore as represented in the +characters of Fielding's Amelia and Sophia. Such she was, so gracious +and yielding, in her overt demeanour, but, alas, poor Matilda's pillow +was often wet with her tears. She was loyal; she would not believe evil: +she crushed her natural jealousy 'as a vice of blood, upon the threshold +of the mind.' + +Mrs. Brown-Smith was nearly as unhappy as the girl. The more she hated +the Vidame--and she detested him more deeply every day--the more her +heart bled for Matilda. Mrs. Brown-Smith also had her secret conferences +with Mrs. Malory. + +'Nothing will shake her belief in that man,' said Mrs. Malory. + +'Your daughter is the best girl I ever met,' said Mrs. Brown-Smith. 'The +best tempered, the least suspicious, the most loyal. And I am doing my +worst to make her hate me. Oh, I can't go on!' Here Mrs. Brown-Smith +very greatly surprised her hostess by bursting into tears. + +'You must not desert us now,' said the elder lady. 'The better you think +of poor Matilda--and she _is_ a good girl--the more you ought to help +her.' + +It was the 8th of August, no other visitors were at the house, a shooting +party was expected to arrive on the 11th. Mrs. Brown-Smith dried her +tears. 'It must be done,' she said, 'though it makes me sick to think of +it.' + +Next day she met the Vidame in the park, and afterwards held a long +conversation with Mrs. Malory. As for the Vidame, he was in feverish +high spirits, he devoted himself to Matilda, in fact Mrs. Brown-Smith had +insisted on such dissimulation, as absolutely necessary at this juncture +of affairs. So Matilda bloomed again, like a rose that had been 'washed, +just washed, in a shower.' The Vidame went about humming the airs of the +country which he had honoured by adopting it as the cradle of his +ancestry. + +On the morning of the following day, while the Vidame strayed with +Matilda in the park, Mrs. Brown-Smith was closeted with Mrs. Malory in +her boudoir. + +'Everything is arranged,' said Mrs. Brown-Smith. 'I, guilty and reckless +that I am, have only to sacrifice my character, and all my things. But I +am to retain Methven, my maid. That concession I have won from his +chivalry.' + +'How do you mean?' asked Mrs. Malory. + +'At seven he will get a telegram summoning him to Paris on urgent +business. He will leave in your station brougham in time to catch the +9.50 up train at Wilkington. Or, rather, so impatient is he, he will +leave half an hour too early, for fear of accidental delays. I and my +maid will accompany him. I have thought honesty the best policy, and +told the truth, like Bismarck, "and the same,"' said Mrs. Brown-Smith +hysterically, '"with intent to deceive." I have pointed out to him that +my best plan is to pretend to you that I am going to meet my husband, who +really arrives at Wilkington from Liverpool by the 9.17, though the +Vidame thinks that is an invention of mine. So, you see, I leave without +any secrecy, or fuss, or luggage, and, when my husband comes here, he +will find me flown, and will have to console himself with my luggage and +jewels. He--this Frenchified beast, I mean--has written a note for your +daughter, which he will give to her maid, and, of course, the maid will +hand it to _you_. So he will have burned his boats. And then you can +show it to Matilda, and so,' said Mrs. Brown-Smith, 'the miracle of +opening her eyes will be worked. Johnnie, my husband, and I will be +hungry when we return about half-past ten. And I think you had better +telegraph that there is whooping cough, or bubonic plague, or something +in the house, and put off your shooting party.' + +'But that would be an untruth,' said Mrs. Malory. + +'And what have I been acting for the last ten days?' asked Mrs. Brown- +Smith, rather tartly. 'You must settle your excuse with your +conscience.' + +'The cook's mother really is ill,' said Mrs. Malory, 'and she wants +dreadfully to go and see her. That would do.' + +'All things work together for good. The cook must have a telegram also,' +said Mrs. Brown-Smith. + +The day, which had been extremely hot, clouded over. By five it was +raining: by six there was a deluge. At seven, Matilda and the Vidame +were evicted from their dusky window seat by the butler with a damp +telegraph envelope. The Vidame opened it, and handed it to Matilda. His +presence at Paris was instantly demanded. The Vidame was desolated, but +his absence could not be for more than five days. Bradshaw was hunted +for, and found: the 9.50 train was opportune. The Vidame's man packed +his clothes. Mrs. Brown-Smith was apprised of these occurrences in the +drawing-room before dinner. + +'I am very sorry for dear Matilda,' she cried. 'But it is an ill wind +that blows nobody good. I will drive over with the Vidame and astonish +my Johnnie by greeting him at the station. I must run and change my +dress.' + +She ran, she returned in morning costume, she heard from Mrs. Malory of +the summons by telegram calling the cook to her moribund mother. 'I must +send her over to the station in a dog-cart,' said Mrs. Malory. + +'Oh no,' cried Mrs. Brown-Smith, with impetuous kindness, 'not on a night +like this; it is a cataclysm. There will be plenty of room for the cook +as well as for Methven and me, and the Vidame, in the brougham. Or _he_ +can sit on the box.' + +The Vidame really behaved very well. The introduction of the cook, to +quote an old novelist, 'had formed no part of his profligate scheme of +pleasure.' To elope from a hospitable roof, with a married lady, +accompanied by her maid, might be an act not without precedent. But that +a cook should come to form _une partie carree_, on such an occasion, that +a lover should be squeezed with three women in a brougham, was a trying +novelty. + +The Vidame smiled, 'An artist so excellent,' he said, 'deserves a far +greater sacrifice.' + +So it was arranged. After a tender and solitary five minutes with +Matilda, the Vidame stepped, last, into the brougham. The coachman +whipped up the horses, Matilda waved her kerchief from the porch, the +guilty lovers drove away. Presently Mrs. Malory received, from her +daughter's maid, the letter destined by the Vidame for Matilda. Mrs. +Malory locked it up in her despatch box. + +The runaways, after a warm and uncomfortable drive of three-quarters of +an hour, during which the cook wept bitterly and was very unwell, reached +the station. Contrary to the Vidame's wish, Mrs. Brown-Smith, in an +ulster and a veil, insisted on perambulating the platform, buying the +whole of Mr. Hall Caine's works as far as they exist in sixpenny +editions. Bells rang, porters stationed themselves in a line, like +fielders, a train arrived, the 9.17 from Liverpool, twenty minutes late. +A short stout gentleman emerged from a smoking carriage, Mrs. +Brown-Smith, starting from the Vidame's side, raised her veil, and threw +her arms round the neck of the traveller. + +'You didn't expect _me_ to meet you on such a night, did you, Johnnie?' +she cried with a break in her voice. + +'Awfully glad to see you, Tiny,' said the short gentleman. 'On such a +night!' + +After thus unconsciously quoting the _Merchant of Venice_, Mr. +Brown-Smith turned to his valet. 'Don't forget the fishing-rods,' he +said. + +'I took the opportunity of driving over with a gentleman from Upwold,' +said Mrs. Brown-Smith. 'Let me introduce him. Methven,' to her maid, +'where is the Vidame de la Lain?' + +'I heard him say that he must help Mrs. Andrews, the cook, to find a +seat, Ma'am,' said the maid. + +'He really _is_ kind,' said Mrs. Brown-Smith, 'but I fear we can't wait +to say good-bye to him.' + +Three-quarters of an hour later, Mr. Brown-Smith and his wife were at +supper at Upwold. + +Next day, as the cook's departure had postponed the shooting party, they +took leave of their hostess, and returned to their moors in Perthshire. + +Weeks passed, with no message from the Vidame. He did not answer a +letter which Mrs. Malory allowed Matilda to write. The mother never +showed to the girl the note which he had left with her maid. The absence +and the silence of the lover were enough. Matilda never knew that among +the four packed in the brougham on that night of rain, one had been +eloping with a married lady--who returned to supper. + +The papers were 'requested to state that the marriage announced between +the Vidame de la Lain and Miss Malory will not take place.' Why it did +not take place was known only to Mrs. Malory, Mrs. Brown-Smith, and +Merton. + +Matilda thought that her lover had been kidnapped and arrested, by the +Secret Police of France, for his part in a scheme to restore the Royal +House, the White Flag, the Lilies, the children of St. Louis. At Mrs. +Brown-Smith's place in Perthshire, in the following autumn, Matilda met +Sir Aylmer Jardine. Then she knew that what she had taken for love (in +the previous year) had been, + + 'Not love, but love's first flush in youth.' + +They always do make that discovery, bless them! Lady Jardine is now +wrapped up in her baby boy. The mother of the cook recovered her health. + + + + +IX. ADVENTURE OF THE LADY NOVELIST AND THE VACCINATIONIST + + +'Mr. Frederick Warren'--so Merton read the card presented to him on a +salver of Limoges enamel by the office-boy. + +'Show the gentleman in.' + +Mr. Warren entered. He was a tall and portly person, with a red face, +red whiskers, and a tightly buttoned frock-coat, which more expressed +than hid his goodly and prominent proportions. He bowed, and Merton +invited him to be seated. It struck Merton as a singular circumstance +that his visitor wore on each arm the crimson badge of the newly +vaccinated. + +Mr. Warren sat down, and, taking a red silk handkerchief out of the crown +of his hat, he wiped his countenance. The day was torrid, and Mr. Merton +hospitably offered an effervescent draught. + +'Without the whisky, if you please, sir,' said Mr. Warren, in a +provincial accent. He pointed to a blue ribbon in the buttonhole of his +coat, indicating that he was conscientiously opposed to the use of +alcoholic refreshment in all its forms. + +'Two glasses of Apollinaris water,' said Merton to the office-boy; and +the innocent fluid was brought, while Merton silently admired his +client's arrangement in blue and crimson. When the thirst of that +gentleman had been assuaged, he entered upon business thus: + +'Sir, I am a man of principle!' + +Merton congratulated him; the age was lax, he said, and principle was +needed. He wondered internally what he was going to be asked to +subscribe to, or whether his vote only was required. + +'Sir, have you been vaccinated?' asked the client earnestly. + +'Really,' said Merton, 'I do not quite understand your interest in a +matter so purely personal.' + +'Personal, sir? Not at all. It is the first of public duties--the debt +that every man, woman, and child owes to his or her country. Have you +been vaccinated, sir?' + +'Why, if you insist on knowing,' said Merton, 'I have, though I do not +see--' + +'Recently?' asked the visitor. + +'Yes, last month; but I cannot conjecture why--' + +'Enough, sir,' said Mr. Warren. 'I am a man of principle. Had you not +done your duty in this matter by your country, I should have been +compelled to seek some other practitioner in your line.' + +'I was not aware that my firm had any competitors in our line of +business,' said Merton. 'But perhaps you have come here under some +misapprehension. There is a firm of family solicitors on the floor +above, and next them are the offices of a company interested in a patent +explosive. If your affairs, or your political ideas, demand a legal +opinion, or an outlet in an explosive which is widely recommended by the +Continental Press--' + +'For what do you take me, sir?' asked Mr. Warren. + +'For a Temperance Anarchist,' Merton would have liked to reply, 'judging +by your colours'; but he repressed this retort, and mildly answered, +'Perhaps it would be as much to the purpose to ask, for what do you take +_me_?' + +'For the representative of Messrs. Gray & Graham, the specialists in +matrimonial affairs,' answered the client; and Merton said that he would +be happy if Mr. Warren would enter into the details of his business. + +'I am the ex-Mayor of Bulcester,' said Mr. Warren, 'and, as I told you, a +man of principle. My attachment to the Temperance cause'--and he +fingered his blue ribbon--'procured for me the honour of a defeat at the +last general election, but endeared me to the consciences of the +Nonconformist element in the constituency. Yet, sir, I am at this moment +the most unpopular man in Bulcester; but I shall fight it out--I shall +fight it to my latest breath.' + +'Is Bulcester, then, such an intemperate constituency? I had understood +that the Nonconformist interest was strong there,' said Merton. + +'So it is, sir, so it is; but the interest is now bound to the chariot +wheels of the truckling Toryism of our time--to the sycophants who basely +made vaccination permissive, and paltered with the Conscientious +Objector. These badges, sir'--the client pointed to his own crimson +decorations--'proclaim that I have been vaccinated on _both_ arms, as a +testimony to the immortal though, in Bulcester, maligned discovery of the +great Jenner. Sir, I am hooted in the public streets of my native town, +where Anti-vaccinationism is a frenzy. Mr. Rider Haggard, the author of +_Dr. Therne_, has been burned in effigy for his thrilling and manly +protest to which I owe my own conversion.' + +'Then the conversion is relatively recent?' asked Merton. + +'It dates since my reading of that powerful argument, sir; that appeal to +reason which overcame my prejudice, for I was a prominent A. V.' + +'_Ave_?' asked Merton. + +'A. V., sir--Anti-Vaccinationist. A. C. D. A. too, and always,' he added +proudly; but Merton did not think it prudent to ask for further +explanations. + +'An A. V. I was, an A. V. I am no longer; and I defy popular clamour, +accompanied by brickbats, to shake my principles.' + +'_Justum et tinacem propositi virum_,' murmured Merton, adding, 'All that +is very interesting, but, my dear sir, while I admire the tenacity of +your principles, will you permit me to ask, what has vaccination to do +with the special business of our firm?' + +'Why, sir, I have a family, and my eldest son--' + +'Does he decline to be vaccinated?' asked Merton, in a sympathetic voice. + +'No, sir, or he would never darken my doorway,' exclaimed this more than +Roman father. 'But he is engaged, and I can never give my consent; and +if he marries that girl, the firm ceases to be "Warren & Son, wax-cloth +manufacturers." That's all, sir--that's all.' + +Mr. Warren again applied his red handkerchief to his glowing features. + +'And what, may I ask, are the grounds of your objection to this +engagement? Social inequality?' asked Merton. + +'No, the young lady is the daughter of one of our leading ministers, Mr. +Truman--author of _The Bishops to the Block_--but principles are +concerned.' + +'You cannot mean that the young lady is excessively addicted to the--wine +cup?' asked Merton gravely. 'In melancholy cases of that kind Mr. Hall +Caine, in a romance, has recommended hypnotic treatment, but we do not +venture to interfere.' + +'You misunderstand me, sir,' replied Mr. Warren, frowning. 'The young +woman, on principle, as they call it, has never been vaccinated. Like +most of our prominent citizens, her father (otherwise an excellent man) +objects to what he calls "The Worship of the Calf" on grounds of +conscience.' + +'Conscience! It is a hard thing to constrain the conscience,' murmured +Merton, quoting a remark of Queen Mary to John Knox. + +'What is conscience without knowledge, sir?' asked the client, +using--without knowing it--the very argument of Mr. Knox to the Queen. + +'You have no other objections to the alliance?' asked Merton. + +'None whatever, sir. She is a good and good-looking girl. On most +important points we are thoroughly agreed. She won a prize essay on +Bacon's authorship of Shakespeare's plays. Of course Shakespeare could +not have written them--a thoroughly uneducated man, who never could have +passed the fourth standard. But look at the plays! There are things in +them that, with all our modern advantages, are beyond me. I admit they +are beyond me. "To be, and to do, and to suffer,"' declaimed Mr. Warren, +apparently under the impression that this is part of Hamlet's +soliloquy--'Shakespeare could never have written _that_. Where did _he_ +learn grammar?' + +'Where, indeed?' replied Merton. 'But as the lady is in all other +respects so suitable a match, cannot this one difficulty be got over?' + +'Impossible, sir; my son could not slice the sleeve in her dress and +inflict this priceless boon on her with affectionate violence. Even the +hero of _Dr. Therne_ failed there--' + +'And rather irritated his pretty Jane,' added Merton, who remembered this +heroic adventure. 'It is a very hard case,' he went on, 'but I fear that +our methods are powerless. The only chance would be to divert young Mr. +Warren's affections into some other more enlightened channel. That +expedient has often been found efficacious. Is he very deeply enamoured? +Would not the society of another pretty and intelligent girl perhaps work +wonders?' + +'Perhaps it might, sir, but I don't know where to find any one that would +attract my James. Except for political meetings, and a literary lecture +or two, with a magic-lantern and a piano, we have not much social +relaxation at Bulcester. We object to promiscuous dancing, on grounds of +conscience. Also, of course, to the stage.' + +'Ah, so you _do_ allow for the claims of conscience, do you?' + +'For what do you take me, sir? Only, of course the conscience must be +enlightened,' said Mr. Warren, as other earnest people usually do. + +'Certainly, certainly,' said Merton; 'nothing so dangerous as the +unenlightened conscience. Why, in this very matter of marriage the +conscience of the Mormons leads them to singular aberrations, while that +of the Arunta tribe--but I should only pain you if I pursued the subject. +You said that your Society indulged in literary lectures: is your +programme for the season filled up?' + +'I am President of the Bulcester Literary Society,' said Mr. Warren, 'and +I ought to know. We have a vacancy for Friday week; but why do you +inquire? In fact I want a lecturer on "The Use and Abuse of Novels," now +you ask. Our people, somehow, always want their literary lectures to be +about novels. I try to make the lecturers take a lofty moral tone, and +usually entertain them at my house, where I probe their ideas, and warn +them that we must have nothing loose. Once, sir, we had a lecturer on +"The Oldest Novel in the World." He gave us a terrible shock, sir! I +never saw so many red cheeks in a Bulcester audience. And the man seemed +quite unaware of the effect he was producing.' + +'Short-sighted, perhaps?' said Merton. + +'Ever since we have been very careful. But, sir, we seem to have got +away from the subject.' + +'It is only seeming,' said Merton. 'I have an idea which may be of +service to you.' + +'Thank you, most kindly,' said Mr. Warren. 'But as how?' + +'Does your Society ever employ lady lecturers?' + +'We prefer them; we are all for enlarging the sphere of woman's +activity--virtuous activity, I mean.' + +'That is fortunate,' remarked Merton. 'You said just now that to try the +plan of a counter-attraction was difficult, because there was little of +social relaxation in your Society, and you knew no lady who had the +opportunities necessary for presenting an agreeable alternative to the +charms of Miss Truman. A young man's fancy is often caught merely by the +juxtaposition of a single member of the opposite sex, with whom he +contracts a custom of walking home from chapel.' + +'That's mostly the way at Bulcester,' said Mr. Warren. + +'Well,' Merton went on, 'you are in the habit of entertaining the +lecturers at your house. Now, I know a young lady--one of our staff, in +fact--who is very well qualified to lecture on "The Use and Abuse of +Novels." She is a novelist herself; one of the most serious and +improving of our younger writers. In her works virtue (after struggles) +is always rewarded, and vice (especially if gilded) is held up to +execration, though never allowed to display itself in colours which would +bring a blush to the cheek of--a white rabbit. Here is her portrait,' +said Merton, taking up a family periodical, _The Young Girl_. This +blameless journal was publishing a serial story by Miss Martin, one of +the ladies who had been enlisted at the dinner given by Logan and Merton +when they founded their Society. A photograph of Miss Martin, in white +and in a large shadowy hat, was published in _The Young Girl_, and +certainly no one could have recognised in this conscientiously innocent +and domestic portrait the fair author of romances of social adventure and +unimagined crime. 'There you see our young friend,' said Merton; 'and +the magazine, to which she is a regular contributor, is a voucher for her +character as an author.' + +Mr. Warren closely scrutinised the portrait, which displayed loveliness +and candour in a very agreeable way, and arranged in the extreme of +modest simplicity. + +'That is a young woman who bears her testimonials in her face,' said Mr. +Warren. 'She is one whom a father can trust--but has she been +vaccinated?' + +'Early and often,' answered Merton reassuringly. 'Girls with faces like +hers do not care to run any risks.' + +'Jane Truman does, though my son has put it to her, I know, on the ground +of her looks. "_Nothing_," she said, "will ever induce me to submit to +that filthy, that revolting operation."' + +'"Conscience doth make cowards of us all," as Bacon says,' replied +Merton, 'or at least of such of us as are unenlightened. But to come to +business. What do you think of asking our young friend down to +lecture--on Friday week, I think you said--on the Use and Abuse of +Novels? You could easily persuade her, I dare say, to stay over +Sunday--longer if necessary--and then young Mr. Warren would at least +find out that there is more than one young woman in the world.' + +'I shall be delighted to see your friend,' answered Mr. Warren. 'At +Bulcester we welcome intellect, and a real novelist of moral tendencies +would make quite a sensation in our midst.' + +'They are but too scarce at present,' Merton answered--'novelists of high +moral tone.' + +'She is not a Christian Scientist?' asked Mr. Warren anxiously. 'They +reject vaccination, like all other means appointed, and rely on miracles, +which ceased with the Apostolic age, being no longer necessary.' + +'The lady, I can assure you, is not a Christian Scientist,' said Merton +'but comes of an Evangelical family. Shall I give you her address? In +my opinion it would be best to write to her from Bulcester, on the +official paper of the Literary Society.' For Merton wished to acquaint +Miss Martin with the nature of her mission, lecturing being an art which +she had never cultivated. + +'There is just one thing,' remarked Mr. Warren hesitatingly. 'This young +lady, if our James lets his affections loose on her--how would _that_ be, +sir?' + +Merton smiled. + +'Why, no great harm would be done, Mr. Warren. You need not fear any +complication: any new matrimonial difficulty. The affection would be all +on one side, and that side would not be the lady lecturer's. I happen to +know that she has a prior attachment.' + +'Vaccinated!' cried Mr. Warren, letting a laugh out of him. + +'Exactly,' said Merton. + +Mr. Warren now gladly concurred in the plan of his adviser, after which +the interview was concerned with financial details. Merton usually left +these vague, but in Mr. Warren he saw a client who would feel more +confidence if everything was put on a strictly business footing. The +client retired in a hopeful frame of mind, and Merton went to look for +Miss Martin at her club, where she was usually to be found at the hour of +tea. + +He was fortunate enough to find her, dressed by no means after the style +of her portrait in _The Young Girl_, but still very well dressed. She +offered him the refreshment of tea and toast--very good toast, Merton +thought--and he asked how her craft as a novelist was prospering. Friends +of Miss Martin were obliged to ask, for they did not read _The Young +Girl_, or the other and less domestic serials in which her works +appeared. + +'I am doing very well, thank you,' said Miss Martin. 'My tale _The +Curate's Family_ has raised the circulation of _The Young Girl_; and, +mind you, it is no easy thing for a novelist to raise the circulation of +any periodical. For example, if _The Quarterly Review_ published a new +romance, even by Mr. Thomas Hardy, I doubt if the end would justify the +proceedings.' + +'It would take about four years to get finished in a quarterly,' said +Merton. + +'And the nonagenarians who read quarterlies,' said Miss Martin, with the +flippancy of youth, 'would go to their graves without knowing whether the +heroine found a lenient jury or not. I have six heroines in _The +Curate's Family_, and I own their love affairs tend to get a little +mixed. I have rigged up a small stage, with puppets in costume to +represent the characters, and keep them straight in my mind; but +Ethelinda, who is engaged to the photographer, as nearly as possible +eloped with the baronet last week.' + +'Anything else on?' asked Merton. + +'An up-to-date story, all heredity and evolution,' said Miss Martin. 'The +father has his legs bitten off by a shark, and it gets on the nerves of +his wife, the Marchioness, and two of the girls are born like mermaids. +They have immense popularity at bathing-places on the French coast, but +it is not easy for them to go into general society.' + +'What nonsense!' exclaimed Merton. + +'Not worse than other stuff that is highly recommended by eminent +reviewers,' said Miss Martin. + +'Anything else?' + +'Oh, yes; there is "The Pope's Poisoner, a Tale of the Borgias." That is +a historical romance, I got it up out of Histories of the Renaissance. +The hero (Lionardo da Vinci) is the Pope's bravo, and in love with +Lucrezia Borgia.' + +'Are the dates all right?' asked Merton. + +'Oh, bother the dates! Of course he is a bravo _pour le bon motif_, and +frustrates the pontifical designs.' + +'I want you,' said Merton, 'you have such a fertile imagination, to take +part in a little plot of our own. Beneficent, of course, but I admit +that my fancy is baffled. Could we find a room less crowded? This is +rather private business.' + +'There is never anybody in the smoking-room at the top of the house,' +said Miss Martin, 'because--to let out a secret--none of us ever smoke, +except at public dinners to give tone. But _you_ may.' + +She led Merton to a sepulchral little chamber upstairs, and he told her +all the story of Mr. Warren, his son, and the daughter of the minister. + +'Why don't they elope?' asked Miss Martin. + +'The Nonconformist conscience is unfriendly to elopements, and the young +man has no accomplishment by which he could support his bride except the +art of making oilcloth.' + +'Well, what do you want me to do?' + +Merton unfolded the scheme of the lady lecturer, and prepared Miss Martin +to receive an invitation from Mr. Warren. + +'Can you write a lecture on "The Use and Abuse of Novels" before Friday +week?' he asked. + +'Say seven thousand words? I could do it by to-morrow morning,' said +Miss Martin. + +'You know you must be very careful?' + +'Style of answers to correspondents in _The Young Girl_,' said Miss +Martin. 'I know my way about.' + +'Then you really will essay the adventure?' + +'Like a bird,' answered the lady. 'It will be great fun. I shall pick +up copy about the habits of the middle classes in the Midlands.' + +'They won't recognise you as the author of your more criminal romances?' + +'How can they? I sign them "Passion Flower" and "Nightshade," and "La +Tofana," and so on.' + +'You will dress as in your photograph in _The Young Girl_?' + +'I will, and take a _fichu_ to wear in the evening. They always wear +_fichus_ in evening dress. But, look here, do you want a happy ending to +this romance?' + +'How can it be happy if you are to be successful? Miss Jane Truman will +be miserable, and Mr. James Warren will die of remorse and a broken +heart, when you--' + +'Fail to crown his flame, and Jane has too much pride to welcome back the +wanderer?' + +'I'm afraid that, or something like that, will be the end of it,' said +Merton, 'and, perhaps, on reflection, we had better drop the affair.' + +'But suppose I could manage a happy ending? Suppose I reconcile Mr. +Warren to the union? I am all for happy endings myself. I drink to King +Charles II., who declared that while _he_ was king all tragedies should +end happily.' + +'You don't mean that you can persuade Jane to be vaccinated?' + +'One never knows till one tries. You'll find that I shall make a happy +conclusion to my Borgia novel, and _that_ is not so easy. You see +Lionardo goes to the Pope's jeweller and exchanges the--' + +Miss Martin paused and remained absorbed in thought. + +Suddenly she danced round the room with much grace and _abandon_, while +Merton, smoking in an arm-chair that had lost a castor, gently applauded +the performance. + +'You have your idea?' he asked. + +'I have it. Happy ending! Hurrah!' + +Miss Martin spun round like a dancing Dervish, and finally fell into +another arm-chair, overcome by the heat and the intoxication of genius. + +'We owe a candle to Saint Alexander Borgia!' she said, when she recovered +her breath. + +'Miss Martin,' said Merton gravely, 'this is a serious matter. You are +not going, I trust, to poison the lemons for the elder Mr. Warren's lemon +squash? He is strictly Temperance, you know.' + +'Poison the lemons? With a hypodermic syringe?' asked Miss Martin. 'No; +that is good business. I have made one of my villains do _that_, but +that is not my idea. Perfectly harmless, my idea.' + +'But sensational, I fear?' asked Merton. + +'Some very cultured critics might think so,' the lady admitted. 'But I +am sure to succeed, and I hear the merry, merry wedding bells of the +Bulcester tabernacle ringing a peal for the happy pair.' + +'Well, what is the plan?' + +'That is my secret.' + +'But I _must_ know. I am responsible. Tell me, or I telegraph to Mr. +Warren: "Lecturer never vaccinated; sorry for my mistake."' + +'That would not be true,' said Miss Martin. + +'A noble falsehood,' said Merton. + +'But I assure you that if my plan fails no harm can possibly be caused or +suspected. And if it succeeds then the thing is done: either Mr. Warren +is reconciled to the marriage, or--the marriage is broken off, as he +desires.' + +'By whom?' + +'By the Conscientious Objectrix, if that is the feminine of Objector--by +Miss Jane Truman.' + +'Why should Jane break it off if the old gentleman agrees?' + +'Because Jane would be a silly girl. Mr. Merton, I will promise you one +thing. The plan shall not be tried without the approval of the lover +himself. None but he shall be concerned in the affair.' + +'You won't hypnotise the girl and let him vaccinate her when she is in +the hypnotic sleep?' + +'No, nor even will I give her a post-hypnotic suggestion to vaccinate +herself, or go to the doctor's and have it done when she is awake; +though,' said Miss Martin, 'that is not bad business either. I must make +a note of that. But I can't hypnotise anybody. I tried lots of girls +when I was at St. Ursula's and nothing ever came of it. Thank you for +the idea all the same. By the way, I first must sterilise the +pontifical--' She paused. + +'The what?' + +'That is my secret! Don't you see how safe it is? None but the lover +shall have his and her fate in his hands. _C'est a prendre ou a +laisser_.' + +Merton was young and adventurous. + +'You give me your word that your idea is absolutely safe and harmless? It +involves no crime?' + +'None; and if you like,' said Miss Martin, 'I will bring you the highest +professional opinion,' and she mentioned an eminent name in the craft of +healing. 'He was our doctor when we were children,' said the lady, 'and +we have always been friends.' + +'Well,' Merton said, 'what is good enough for Sir Josiah Wilkinson is +good enough for me. But you will bring me the document?' + +'The day after to-morrow,' said Miss Martin, and with that assurance +Merton had to be content. + +Sir Josiah was almost equally famous in the world as a physician and, in +a smaller but equally refined circle, as a virtuoso and collector of +objects of art. His opinions about the beneficent effects of vaccination +were known to be at the opposite pole from those of the intelligent +population of Bulcester. + +On the next day but one Miss Martin again entertained Merton at her club, +and demurely presented him with three documents. These were Mr. Warren's +invitation, her reply in acceptance, and a formal signed statement by Sir +Josiah that her scheme was perfectly harmless, and commanded his admiring +approval. + +'Now!' said Miss Martin. + +'I own that I don't like it,' said Merton. 'Logan thinks that it is all +right, but Logan is a born conspirator. However, as you are set on it, +and as Sir Josiah's opinion carries great weight, you may go. But be +very careful. Have you written your lecture?' + +'Here is the scenario,' said Miss Martin, handing a typewritten synopsis +to Merton. + + 'USE AND ABUSE OF NOVELS. + + 'All good things capable of being abused. Alcohol not one of these; + alcohol _always_ pernicious. Fiction, on the other hand, a good + thing. Antiquity of fiction. In early days couched in verse. + Civilisation prefers prose. Fiction, from the earlier ages, intended + to convey Moral Instruction. Opinion of Aristotle defended against + that of Plato. Morality in mediaeval Romance. Criticism of Mr. + Frederic Harrison. Opinion of Moliere. Yet French novels usually + immoral, and why. Remarks on Popery. To be avoided. Morality of + Richardson and of Sir Walter Scott. Impropriety re-introduced by + Charlotte Bronte. Unwillingness of Lecturer to dwell on this Topic. + The Novel is now the whole of Literature. The people have no time to + read anything else. Responsibilities of the Novelist as a Teacher. + The Novel the proper vehicle of Theological, Scientific, Social, and + Political Instruction. Mr. Hall Caine, Miss Corelli. Fallacy of + thinking that the Novel should Amuse. Abuse of the Novel as a source + of mischievous and false Opinions. Case of _The Woman Who Did_. + Sacredness of Marriage. Study of the Novel becomes an abuse if it + leads to the Neglect of the Morning and Evening Newspapers. Sir + Walter Besant on the Novel. None but the newest Novels ought to be + read. Mr. W. D. Howells on this subject. Experience of the Lecturer + as a Novelist. Gratifying letters from persons happily influenced by + the Lecturer. Anecdotes. Case of Miss A--- C---. Case of Mr. J--- + R---. Unhappy Endings demoralising. Marriage the true End of the + Novel, but the beginning of the happy life. Lecturer wishes her + audience happy Endings and true Beginnings. Conclusion.' + +'Will _that_ do?' asked Miss Martin anxiously. + +'Yes, if you don't exceed your plan, or run into chaff.' + +'I won't,' said Miss Martin. 'It is all chaff, but they won't see it.' + +'I think I would drop that about Popery,' said Merton--'it may lead to +letters in the newspapers; and _do_ be awfully careful about impropriety +in novels.' + +'I'll put in "Vice to be Condemned, not Described,"' said Miss Martin, +pencilling a note on the margin of her paper. + +'That seems safe,' said Merton. 'But it cuts out some of our most +powerful teachers.' + +'Serve them right!' said Miss Martin. 'Teachers! the arrant humbugs.' + +'You will report at once on your return?' said Merton. 'I shall be on +tenter-hooks till I see you again. If I knew what you are really about, +I'd take counsel's opinion. Medical opinion does not satisfy me: I want +legal.' + +'How nervous you are!' said Miss Martin. 'Counsel would be rather stuck +up, I think; it is a new kind of case,' and the lady laughed in an +irritating way. 'I'll tell you what I'll do,' she said. 'I'll telegraph +to you on the Monday morning after the lecture. If everything goes well, +I'll telegraph, "Happy ending." If anything goes wrong--but it +can't--I'll telegraph, "Unhappy ending."' + +'If you do, I shall be off to Callao. + + '_On no condition_ + _Is Extradition_ + _Allowed in Callao_!' + +said Merton. + +'But if there is any uncertainty--and there _may_ be,' said Miss Martin, +'I'll telegraph, "Will report."' + +* * * * * + +Merton passed a miserable week of suspense and perplexity of mind. Never +had he been so imprudent; he felt sure of that, and it was the only thing +of which he did feel sure. The newspapers contained bulletins of an +epidemic of smallpox at Bulcester. How would that work into the plot? +Then the high animal spirits and daring fancy of Miss Martin might carry +her into undreamed-of adventures. + +'But they won't let her have even a glass of champagne,' reflected +Merton. 'One glass makes her reckless.' + +It was with a trembling hand that Merton, about ten on the Monday +morning, took the telegraphic envelope of Fate. + +'I can't face it,' he said to Logan. 'Read the message to me.' Merton +was unmanned! + +Logan carelessly opened the envelope and read: + +'_Happy ending_, _but awfully disappointed. Will call at one o'clock_.' + +'Oh, thanks to all gracious Powers,' said Merton falling limply on to a +sofa. 'Ring, Logan, and order a small whisky-and-soda.' + +'I won't,' said Logan. 'Horrid bad habit. Would you like me to send out +for smelling-salts? Be a man, Merton! Pull yourself together!' + +'You don't know that awful girl,' said Merton, slowly recovering self- +control. 'However, as she is disappointed though the ending is happy, +her infernal plan must have been miscarried, whatever it was. It _must_ +be all right, though I sha'n't be quite happy till I see her. I am no +coward, Logan' (and Merton was later to prove that he possessed coolness +and audacity in no common measure), 'but it is the awful sense of +responsibility. She is quite capable of getting us into the newspapers.' + +'You funk being laughed at,' said Logan. + +Merton lay on the sofa, smoking too many cigarettes, till, punctually at +one o'clock, a peal at the bell announced the arrival of Miss Martin. She +entered, radiant, smiling, and in her costume of innocence she looked +like a sylph. + +'It is all right--they are engaged, with Mr. Warren's full approval,' she +exclaimed. + +'Were we on the stage, I should embrace you!' exclaimed Merton +rapturously. + +'We are not on the stage,' replied Miss Martin demurely. 'And _I_ have +no occasion to congratulate myself. My plot did not come off; never had +a look in. Do you want to be vaccinated? If so, shake hands,' and Miss +Martin extended her own hands ungloved. + +'I do not want to be vaccinated,' said Merton. + +'Then don't shake hands,' said Miss Martin. + +'What on earth do you mean?' asked Merton. + +'Look there!' said the lady, lifting her hand to his eyes. Merton kissed +it. + +'Oh, _take care_!' shrieked Miss Martin. 'It would be awkward--on the +lips. Do you see my ring?' + +Merton and Logan examined her ring. It was a beautiful _cinque cento_ +jewel in white and blue enamel, with a high gold top containing a pointed +ruby. + +'It's very pretty,' said Merton--'quite of the best period. But what is +the mystery?' + +'It is a poison ring of the Borgias,' said Miss Martin. 'I borrowed it +from Sir Josiah Wilkinson. If it scratched you' (here she exhibited the +mechanism of the jewel), 'why, there you are!' + +'Where? Poisoned?' + +'No! Vaccinated!' said Miss Martin. 'It is full of the stuff they +vaccinate you with, but it is quite safe as far as the old poison goes. +Sir Josiah sterilised it, in case of accidents, before he put in the +glycerinated lymph. My own idea! He was delighted. Shall I shake hands +with the office-boy?--it might do him good--or would Kutuzoff give a +paw?' + +Kutuzoff was the Russian cat. + +'By no means--not for worlds,' said Merton. 'Kutuzoff is a Conscientious +Objector. But were you going to shake hands with Miss Truman with that +horrible ring? Sacred emblems enamelled on it,' said Merton, gingerly +examining the jewel. + +'No; I was not going to do that,' replied Miss Martin. 'My idea was to +acquire the confidence of the lover--the younger Mr. Warren--explain to +him how the thing works, lend it to him, and then let him press his +Jane's wrist with it in some shady arbour. Then his Jane would have been +all that the heart of Mr. Warren _pere_ could desire. But it did not +come off.' + +'Thank goodness!' ejaculated Merton. 'There might have been an awful +row. I don't know what the offence would have been in the eye of the +law. Vaccinating a Conscientious Objector, without consent, yet without +violence,--what would the law say to _that_?' + +'We might make it _hamesucken under trust_ in Scotland,' said Logan, 'if +it was done on the premises of the young lady's domicile.' + +'We have not that elegant phrase in England,' said Merton. 'Perhaps it +would have been a common assault; but, anyhow, it would have got into the +newspapers. Never again be officer of mine, Miss Martin.' + +'But how did all end happily?' asked Logan. + +'Why, _you_ may call it happily and so may the lovers, but _I_ call it +very disappointing,' said Miss Martin. + +'Tell us all about it!' cried Logan. + +'Well, I went down, simple as you see me.' + +'_Simplex munditiis_!' said Merton. + +'And was met at the station by young Mr. Warren. His father, with the +wisdom of a Nonconformist serpent, had sent him alone to make my +acquaintance and be fascinated. My things were put on a four-wheeler. I +was all young enthusiasm in the manner of _The Young Girl_. He was a +good-looking boy enough, though in a bowler hat, with turn-down collar. +But he was gloomy. I was curious about the public buildings, ecstatic +about the town hall, and a kind of Moeso-Gothic tabernacle (if it was not +Moeso-Gothic in style I don't know what it was) where the Rev. Mr. Truman +holds forth. But I could not waken him up, he seemed miserable. I soon +found out the reason. The placards of the local newspapers shrieked in +big type with + + SPREAD OF SMALLPOX. + 135 CASES. + +When I saw that I took young Mr. Warren's hand.' + +'Were you wearing the ring?' asked Merton. + +'No; it was in my dressing-bag. I said, "Mr. Warren, I know what care +clouds your brow. You are brooding over the fate of the young, the fair, +the beloved--the unvaccinated. I know the story of your heart." + +'"How the D--- I mean, how do you know, Miss Martin, about my private +affairs?" + +'"A little bird has told me," I said (style of _The Young Girl_, you +know). "I have friends in Bulcester who esteem you. No, I must not +mention names, but I come, not too late, I hope, to bring you security. +She shall be preserved from this awful scourge, and you shall be her +preserver." He wanted to know how it was to be done, of course, and +after taking his word of honour for secrecy, I told him that the remedy +would lie in his own hands, showed him the ring, and taught him how to +work it. Mr. Squeers,' went on Miss Martin, 'had never wopped a boy in a +cab before, and I had never beheld a scene of passionate emotion +before--in a four-wheeler. He called me his preserver, he said that I +was an angel, he knelt at my feet, and, if we had been on the stage--as +Mr. Merton said--' + +'And were you on the stage?' asked Merton. + +'That is neither here nor there. It was an instructive experience, and +you little know the treasures of passion that may lie concealed in the +heart of a young oilcloth manufacturer.' + +'Happy young oilcloth manufacturer!' murmured Merton. + +'They are both happy, but I did not manage my fortunate conclusion in my +own way. When young Mr. Warren had moderated the transports of his +gratitude we were in the suburbs of Bulcester, where the mill-owners live +in houses of the most promiscuous architecture: Tudor, Jacobean, Queen +Anne, Bedford Park Queen Anne, _chalets_, Chineseries, "all standing +naked in the open air," for the trees have not grown up round them yet. +Then we came to a gate without a lodge, the cabman got down and opened +it, and we were in the visible presence of Mr. Warren's villa. The style +is the Scottish Baronial; all pepper-pots, gables and crowsteps. + +'"What a lovely old place!" I said to my companion. "Have you secret +passages and sliding panels and dark turnpike stairs? What a house for +conspiracies! There is a real turret window; can't you fancy it suddenly +shot up and the king's face popped out, very red, and bellowing, +'Treason!'" + +'At that moment, when my imagination was in full career, the turret +window _was_ shot up, and a face, very red, with red whiskers, was popped +out. + +'"That is my father," said young Mr. Warren; and we alighted, and a very +small maidservant opened the portals of the baronial hall, while the +cabman carried up my trunk, and Mr. Warren, senior, greeted me in the +hall. + +'"Welcome to Bulcester!" he said, with a florid air, and "hoped James and +I had made friends on the way," and then he actually winked! He is a +widower, and I was dying for tea, but there we sat, and when the little +maid came in, it was to say that a gentleman wanted to see Mr. Warren in +the study. So he went out, and then, James being the victim of +gratitude, I took my courage in both hands and asked if I might have tea. +James said that they usually had it after the lecture was over, which +would not be till nine, and that some people had been asked to meet me. +Then I knew that I was got among a strange, outlandish race who eat +strange meats and keep High Teas, and my spirit fainted within me. + +'"Oh, Mr. James!" I said, "if you love me have a cup of tea and some +bread-and-butter sent up to my room, and tell the maid to show me the way +to it." + +'So he sent for her, and she showed me to the best spare room, with +oleographs of Highland scenery on the walls, and coloured Landseer +prints, and tartan curtains, and everything made of ormolu that can be +made of ormolu. In about twenty minutes the girl returned with tea and +poached eggs and toast, and jam and marmalade. So I dressed for the +lecture, which was to begin at eight--just when people ought to be +dining--and came down into the drawing-room. The elder Mr. Warren was +sitting alone, reading the _Daily News_, and he rose with an air of happy +solemnity and shook hands again. + +'"You can let James alone now, Miss Martin," he said, and he winked +again, rubbed his hands, and grinned all over his expansive face. + +'"Let James alone!" I said. + +'"Yes; don't go upsetting the lad--he's not used to young ladies like +you. You leave James to himself. James will do very well. I have a +little surprise for James." + +'He certainly had a considerable surprise for me, but I merely asked if +it was James's birthday, which it was not. + +'Luckily James entered. All his gloom was gone, thanks to me, and he was +remarkably smiling and particularly attentive to myself. Mr. Warren +seemed perplexed. + +'"James, have you heard any good news?" he asked. "You seem very gay all +of a sudden." + +'James caught my eye. + +'"No, father," he said. "What news do you mean? Anything in business? A +large order from Sarawak?" + +'Mr. Warren was silent, but presently took me into a corner on the +pretence of showing me some horrible _objet d'art_--a treacly bronze. + +'"I say," he said, "you must have made great play in the cab coming from +the station. James looks a new man. I never would have guessed him to +be so fickle. But, mind you, no more of it! Let James be--he will do +very well." + +'How was James to do very well? Why were my fascinations not to be +exercised, as per contract? I began to suspect the worst, and I was +thinking of nothing else while we drove to the premises of the Bulcester +Literary Society. Could Jane have drowned herself out of the way, or +taken smallpox, which might ruin her charms? Well, I had not a large +audience, on account of fear of infection, I suppose, and all the people +present wore the red badge, like Mr. Warren, only he wore one on each +arm. This somewhat amazed me, but as I had never spoken in public before +I was rather in a flutter. However, I conquered my girlish shyness, and +if the audience was not large it was enthusiastic. When I came to the +peroration about wishing them all happy endings and real beginnings of +true life, don't you know, the audience actually rose at me, and cheered +like anything. Then someone proposed, "Three cheers for young Warren," +and they gave them like mad; I did not know why, nor did he: he looked +quite pale. Then his father, with tears in his voice, proposed a vote of +thanks to me, and said that he and the brave hearts of old Bulcester, his +old friends and brothers in arms, were once more united; and the people +stormed the platform and shook his hand and slapped him on the back. At +last we got out by a back way, where our cab was waiting. Young Mr. +Warren was as puzzled as myself, and his father was greatly overcome and +sobbing in a corner. We got into the house, where people kept arriving, +and at last a fine old clerical-looking bird entered with a red badge on +one arm and a very pretty girl in white on the other. She had a red +badge too. + +'Young Mr. Warren, who was near me when they came in, gave a queer sort +of cry, and then _I_ understood! The girl was his Jane, and she _had_ +been vaccinated, also her father, that afternoon, owing to the awful +panic the old man got into after reading the evening papers about the +smallpox. The gentleman whom Mr. Warren went to see in the study, just +after my arrival, had brought him this gratifying intelligence, and he +had sent the gentleman back to ask the Trumans to a High Tea of +reconciliation. The people at the lecture had heard of this, and that +was why they cheered so for young Warren, because his affair was as +commonly known to all Bulcester as that of Romeo and Juliet at Verona. +They are hearty people at Bulcester, and not without elements of old +English romance. + +'Old Mr. Warren publicly embraced Jane Truman, and then brought her and +presented her to me as James's bride. We both cried a little, I think, +and then we all sat down to High Tea, and I am scarcely yet the woman I +used to be. It was a height! And a weight! And a length! After tea +Mr. Warren made a speech, and said that Bulcester had come back to him, +and I was afraid that he would brag dreadfully, but he did not; he was +too happy, I think. And then Mr. Truman made a speech and said that +though they felt obliged to own that they had come to the conclusion that +though Anti-vaccination was a holy thing, still (in the circumstances) +vaccination was good enough. But they yet clung to principles for which +Hampden died on the field, and Russell on the scaffold, and many of their +own citizens in bed! There must be no Coercion. Everyone who liked must +be allowed to have smallpox as much as he pleased. All other issues were +unimportant except that of freedom! + +'Here I rose--I was rather excited--and said that I hoped the reverend +speaker was not deserting the sacred principle of compulsory temperance? +Would the speaker allow people freedom to drink? All other issues were +unimportant compared with that of freedom, _except_ the interest of +depriving a poor man of his beer. To catch smallpox was a Briton's +birthright, but not to take a modest quencher. No freedom to drink! +"Down with the drink!" I cried, and drained my tea-cup, and waved it, +amidst ringing cheers. Mr. Truman admitted that there were +exceptions--one exception, at least. Disease must be free to all, not +alcohol nor Ritualism. He thanked his young friend the gifted lecturer +for recalling him to his principles. + +'The principles of the good old cause, the Puritan cause, were as pure as +glycerinated lymph, and he proposed to found a Liberal Vaccinationist +League. They are great people for leagues at Bulcester, and they like +the initials L. V. L. There was no drinking of toasts, for there was +nothing to drink them in, and--do you know, Mr. Merton?--I think it must +be nearly luncheon time.' + +'Champagne appears to me to be indicated,' said Merton, who rang the bell +and then summoned Miss Blossom from her typewriting. + +'We have done nothing,' Merton said, 'but heaven only knows what we have +escaped in the adventure of the Lady Novelist and the Vaccinationist.' + +On taking counsel's opinion, Merton learned, with a shudder, that if +young Warren had used the Borgia ring, and if Jane had resented it, he +might have been indicted for a common assault, under 24 and 25 Victoria, +cap. 100, sec. 24, for 'unlawfully and maliciously administering a +noxious thing with intent to annoy.' + +'I don't think she could have proved the intent to annoy,' said the +learned counsel. + +'You don't know a Bulcester jury as it was before the epidemic,' said +Merton. 'And I might have been an accessory before the fact, and, +anyhow, we should all have got into the newspapers.' + +Miss Martin was the most admired of the bridesmaids at the Warren-Truman +marriage. + + + + +X. ADVENTURE OF THE FAIR AMERICAN + + +I. The Prize of a Lady's Hand + + +'Yes, I guess that Pappa _was_ reckoned considerable of a crank. A great +educational reformer, and a progressive Democratic stalwart, _that_ is +the kind of hair-pin Pappa was! But it is awkward for me, some.' + +These remarks, though of an obsolete and exaggerated transatlantic idiom, +were murmured in the softest of tones, in the most English of silken +accents, by the most beautiful of young ladies. She occupied the +client's chair in Merton's office, and, as she sat there and smiled, +Merton acknowledged to himself that he had never met a client so charming +and so perplexing. + +Miss McCabe had been educated, as Merton knew, at an aristocratic Irish +convent in Paris, a sanctuary of old names and old creeds. This was the +plan of her late father (spoken of by her as Pappa), an educational +reformer of eccentric ideas, who, though of ancient (indeed royal) Irish +descent, was of American birth. The young lady had thus acquired abroad, +much against her will, that kind of English accent which some of her +countrywomen reckon 'affected.' But her intense patriotism had induced +her to study, in the works of American humourists, and to reproduce in +her discourse, the flowers of speech of which a specimen has been +presented. The national accent was beyond her, but at least she could be +true to what she (erroneously) believed to be the national idiom. + +'Your case is peculiar,' said Merton thoughtfully, 'and scarcely within +our province. As a rule our clients are the parents, guardians, or +children of persons entangled in undesirable engagements. But you, I +understand, are dissatisfied with the matrimonial conditions imposed by +the will of the late Mr. McCabe?' + +'I want to take my own pick out of the crowd--' said Miss McCabe. + +'I can readily understand,' said Merton, bowing, 'that the throng of +wooers is enormous,' and he vaguely thought of Penelope. + +'The scheme will be popular. It will hit our people right where they +live,' said Miss McCabe, not appropriating the compliment. 'You see +Pappa struck ile early, and struck it often. He was what our Howells +calls a "multimillionaire," and I'm his only daughter. Pappa loved _me_, +but he loved the people better. Guess Pappa was not mean, not worth a +cent. He was a white man!' + +Miss McCabe, with a glow of lovely enthusiasm, contemplated the +unprecedented whiteness of the paternal character. + +'"What the people want," Pappa used to say, "is education. They want it +short, and they want it striking." That was why he laid out five +millions on his celebrated Museum of Freaks, with a staff of competent +professors and lecturers. "The McCabe Museum of Natural Varieties, +lectures and all, is open gratuitously to the citizens of our Republic, +and to intelligent foreigners." That was how Pappa put it. _I_ say that +he dead-headed creation!' + +'Truly Republican munificence,' said Merton, 'worthy of your great +country.' + +'Well, I should smile,' said Miss McCabe. + +'But--excuse my insular ignorance--I do not exactly understand how a +museum of freaks, admirably organised as no doubt it is, contributes to +the cause of popular education.' + +'You have museums even in London?' asked Miss McCabe. + +Merton assented. + +'Are they not educational?' + +'The British Museum is mainly used by the children of the poor, as a +place where they play a kind of subdued hide-and-seek,' said Merton. + +'That's because they are not interested in tinned Egyptian corpses and +broken Greek statuary ware,' answered the fair Republican. 'Now, Mr. +Merton, did you ever see or hear of a _popular_ museum, a museum that the +People would give its cents to see?' + +'I have heard of Mr. Barnum's museum,' said Merton. + +'That's the idea: it is right there,' said Miss McCabe. 'But old man +Barnum was not scientific. He saw what our people wanted, but he did not +see, Pappa said, how to educate them through their natural instincts. +Barnum's mermaid was not genuine business. It confused the popular mind, +and fostered superstition--and got found out. The result was scepticism, +both religious and scientific. Now, Pappa used to argue, the lives of +our citizens are monotonous. They see yellow dogs, say, but each yellow +dog has only one tail. They see men and women, but almost all of them +have only one head: and even a hand with six fingers is not common. This +is why the popular mind runs into grooves. This causes what they call +"the dead level of democracy." Even our men of genius, Pappa allowed +(for he was a very fair-minded man), do not go ahead of the European +ticket, but rather the reverse. Your Tennyson has the inner tracks of +our Longfellow: your Thackeray gives our Bertha Runkle his dust. The +papers called Pappa unpatriotic, and a bad American. But he was _not_: +he was a white man. When he saw his country's faults he put his finger +on them, right there, and tried to cure them.' + +'A noble policy,' murmured Merton. + +Miss McCabe was really so pretty and unusual, that he did not care how +long she was in coming to the point. + +'Well, Pappa argued that there was more genius, or had been since the +Declaration of Independence, even in England, than in the States. "And +why?" he asked. "Why, because they have more _variety_ in England. +Things are not all on one level there--"' + +'Our dogs have only one tail apiece,' said Merton, 'in spite of the +proverb "_as proud as a dog with two_ _tails_," and a plurality of heads +is unusual even among British subjects.' + +'Yes,' answered Miss McCabe, 'but you have varieties among yourselves. +You have a King and a Queen; and your peerage is rich in differentiated +species. A Baronet is not a Marquis, nor is a Duke an Earl.' + +'He may be both,' said Merton, but Miss McCabe continued to expose the +parental philosophy. + +'Now Pappa would not hear of aristocratic distinctions in our country. He +was a Hail Columbia man, on the Democratic ticket. But _something_ is +wanted, he said, to get us out of grooves, and break the monotony. That +something, said Pappa, Nature has mercifully provided in Freaks. The +citizens feel this, unconsciously: that's why they spend their money at +Barnum's. But Barnum was not scientific, and Barnum was not straight +about his mermaid. So Pappa founded his Museum of Natural Varieties, all +of them honest Injun. Here the lecturers show off the freaks, and +explain how Nature works them, and how she can always see them and go one +better. We have the biggest gold nugget and the weeniest cunning least +gold nugget; the biggest diamond and the smallest diamond; the tallest +man and the smallest man; the whitest negro and the yellowest red man in +the world. We have the most eccentric beasts, and the queerest fishes, +and everything is explained by lecturers of world-wide reputation, on the +principles of evolution, as copyrighted by our Asa Gray and our Agassiz. +_That_ is what Pappa called popular education, and it hits our citizens +right where they live.' + +Miss McCabe paused, in a flush of filial and patriotic enthusiasm. Merton +inwardly thought that among the queerest fishes the late Mr. McCabe must +have been pre-eminent. But what he said was, 'The scheme is most +original. Our educationists (to employ a term which they do not +disdain), such as Mr. Herbert Spencer, Sir Joshua Fitch, and others, have +I thought out nothing like this. Our capitalists never endow education +on this more than imperial scale.' + +'Guess they are scaly varmints!' interposed Miss McCabe. + +Merton bowed his acquiescence in the sentiment. + +'But,' he went on, 'I still do not quite understand how your own +prospects in life are affected by Mr. McCabe's most original and, I hope, +promising experiment?' + +'Pappa loved me, but he loved his country better, and taught me to adore +her, and be ready for any sacrifice.' Miss McCabe looked straight at +Merton, like an Iphigenia blended with a Joan of Arc. + +'I do sincerely trust that no sacrifice is necessary,' said Merton. 'The +circumstances do not call for so--unexampled a victim.' + +'I am to be Lady Principal of the museum when I come to the age of twenty- +five: that is, in six years,' said Miss McCabe proudly. 'You don't call +_that_ a sacrifice?' + +Merton wanted to say that the most magnificent of natural varieties would +only be in its proper place. But the _man of business_ and the manager +of a great and beneficent association overcame the mere amateur of +beauty, and he only said that the position of Lady Principal was worthy +of the ambition of a patriot, and a friend of the species. + +'Well, I reckon! But a clause in Pappa's will is awkward for me, some. +It is about my marriage,' said Miss McCabe bravely. + +Merton assumed an air of grave interest. + +'Pappa left it in his will that I was to marry the man (under the age of +five-and-thirty, and of unimpeachable character and education) who should +discover, and add to the museum, the most original and unheard-of natural +variety, whether found in the Old or the New World.' + +Merton could scarcely credit the report of his ears. + +'Would you oblige me by repeating that statement?' he said, and Miss +McCabe repeated it in identical terms, obviously quoting textually from +the will. + +'Now I understand your unhappy position,' said Merton, thoroughly +agreeing with the transatlantic critics who had pronounced the late Mr. +McCabe 'considerable of a crank.' 'But this is far too serious a matter +for me--for our Association. I am no legist, but I am convinced that, at +least British, and I doubt not American, law would promptly annul a +testatory clause so utterly unreasonable and unprecedented.' + +'Unreasonable!' exclaimed Miss McCabe, rising to her feet with eyes of +flame, 'I am my father's daughter, and his wish is my law, whatever the +laws that men make may say.' + +Her affectation of slang had fallen off; she was absolutely natural now, +and entirely in earnest. + +Merton rose also. + +'One moment,' he said. 'It would be impertinence in me to express my +admiration of you--of what you say. As the question is not a legal one +(in such I am no fit adviser) I shall think myself honoured if you will +permit me to be of any service in the circumstances. They are less +unprecedented than I hastily supposed. History records many examples of +fathers, even of royal rank, who have attached similar conditions to the +disposal of their daughters' hands.' + +Merton was thinking of the kings in the treatises of Monsieur Charles +Perrault, Madame d'Aulnoy, and other historians of Fairyland; of monarchs +who give their daughters to the bold adventurers that bring the smallest +dog, or the singing rose, or the horse magical. + +'What you really want, I think,' he went on, as Miss McCabe resumed her +seat, 'is to have your choice, as you said, among the competitors?' + +'Yes,' replied the fair American, 'that is only natural.' + +'But then,' said Merton, 'much depends on who decides as to the merits of +the competitors. With whom does the decision rest?' + +'With the people.' + +'With the people?' + +'Yes, with the popular vote, as expressed through the newspaper that my +father founded--_The Yellow Flag_. The public is to see the exhibits, +the new varieties of nature, and the majority of votes is to carry the +day. "Trust the people!" that was Pappa's word.' + +'Then anyone who chooses, of the age, character, and education stipulated +under the clause in the will, may go and bring in whatever variety of +nature he pleases and take his chance?' + +'That is it all the time,' said the client. 'There is a trust, and the +trustees, friends of Pappa's, decide on the qualifications of the young +men who enter for the competition. If the trustees are satisfied they +allot money for expenses out of the exploration fund, so that nobody may +be stopped because he is poor.' + +'There will be an enormous throng of competitors in these conditions--and +with such a prize,' Merton could not help adding. + +'I reckon the trustees are middling particular. They'll weed them out.' + +'Is there any restriction on the nationality of the competitors?' asked +Merton, on whom an idea was dawning. + +'Only members of the English speaking races need apply,' said Miss +McCabe. 'Pappa took no stock in Spaniards or Turks.' + +'The voters will be prejudiced in favour of their own fellow citizens?' +asked Merton. 'That is only natural.' + +'Trust the people,' said Miss McCabe. 'The whole thing is to be kept as +dark as a blind coloured person hunting in a dark cellar for a black cat +that is not there.' + +'A truly Miltonic illustration,' said Merton. + +'The advertisement for competitors will be carefully worded, so as to +attract only young men of science. The young men are not to be told +about _me_: the prize is in dollars, "with other advantages to be later +specified." The varieties found are to be conveyed to a port abroad, not +yet named, and shipped for New York in a steamer belonging to the McCabe +Trust.' + +'Then am I to understand that the conditions affecting your marriage are +still an entire secret?' + +'That is so,' said Miss McCabe, 'and I guess from what the marchioness +told me, your reference, that you can keep a secret.' + +'To keep secrets is the very essential of my vocation,' said Merton. + +But _this_ secret, as will be seen, he did not absolutely keep. + +'The arrangements,' he added, 'are most judicious.' + +'Guess Pappa was 'cute,' said Miss McCabe, relapsing into her adopted +mannerisms. + +'I think I now understand the case in all its bearings,' Merton went on. +'I shall give it my serious consideration. Perhaps I had better say no +more at present, but think over the matter. You remain in town for the +season?' + +'Guess we've staked out a claim in Berkeley Square,' said Miss McCabe, +'an agreeable location.' She mentioned the number of the house. + +'Then we are likely to meet now and then,' said Merton, 'and I trust that +I may be permitted to wait on you occasionally.' + +Miss McCabe graciously assented; her chaperon, Lady Rathcoffey, was +summoned by her from the inner chamber and the society of Miss Blossom, +the typewriter; the pair drove away, and Merton was left to his own +reflections. + +'I do not know what can be done for her,' he thought, 'except to see that +there is at least one eligible man, a gentleman, among the crowd of +competitors, and that he is a likely man to win the beautiful prize. And +that man is Bude, by Jove, if he wants to win it.' + +The Earl of Bude, whose name at once occurred to Merton, was a remarkable +personage. The world knew him as rich, handsome, happy, and a mighty +hunter of big game. They knew not the mysterious grief that for years +had gnawed at his heart. Why did not Bude marry? No woman could say. +The world, moreover, knew not, but Merton did, that Lord Bude was the +mysterious Mr. Jones Harvey, who contributed the most original papers to +the Proceedings of the Geographical and Zoological Societies, and who had +conferred many strange beasts on the Gardens of the latter learned +institution. The erudite papers were read, the eccentric animals were +conferred, in the name of Mr. Jones Harvey. They came from outlandish +addresses in the ends of the earth, but, in the flesh, Jones Harvey had +been seen by no man, and his secret had been confided to Merton only, to +Logan, and two other school friends. He did good to science by stealth, +and blushed at the idea of being a F.R.S. There was no show of science +about Bude, and nothing exotic, except the singular circumstance that, +however he happened to be dressed, he always wore a ring, or pin, or +sleeve links set with very ugly and muddy looking pearls. From these +ornaments Lord Bude was inseparable; to chaff about presents from dusky +princesses on undiscovered shores he was impervious. Even Merton did not +know the cause of his attachment to these ungainly jewels, or the dark +memory of mysterious loss with which they were associated. + +Merton's first care was to visit the divine Althaea, Mrs. Brown-Smith, +and other ladies of his acquaintance. Their cards were deposited at the +claim staked out by Miss McCabe in Berkeley Square, and that young lady +soon 'went everywhere,' and publicly confessed that she 'was having a +real lovely time.' By a little diplomacy Lord Bude was brought +acquainted with Miss McCabe. She consented to overlook his possession of +a coronet; titles were, to this heroine, not marvels (as to some of her +countrywomen and ours), but rather matters of indifference, scarcely even +suggesting hostile prejudice. The observers in society, mothers and +maids, and the chroniclers of fashion, soon perceived that there was at +least a marked _camaraderie_ between _the elegant aristocrat_, hitherto +indifferent to woman, untouched, as was deemed, by love, and the lovely +Child of Freedom. Miss McCabe sat by him while he drove his coach; on +the roof of his drag at Lord's; and of his houseboat at Henley, where she +fainted when the crew of Johns Hopkins University, U. S., was defeated by +a length by Balliol (where Lord Bude had been the favourite pupil of the +great Master). Merton remarked these tokens of friendship with approval. +If Bude could be induced to enter for the great competition, and if he +proved successful, there seemed no reason to suppose that Miss McCabe +would be dissatisfied with the People's choice. + +Towards the end of the season, and in Bude's smoking-room, about five in +the July morning after a ball at Eglintoun House, Merton opened his +approaches. He began, cautiously, from talk of moors and forests; he +touched on lochs, he mentioned the Highland traditions of water bulls +(which haunt these meres); he spoke of the _Beathach mor Loch Odha_, a +legendary animal of immeasurable length. The _Beathach_ has twelve feet; +he has often been heard crashing through the ice in the nights of winter. +These tales the narrator has gleaned from the lips of the Celtic +peasantry of Letter Awe. + +'I daresay he does break the ice,' said Bude. 'In the matter of cryptic +survivals of extinct species I can believe a good deal.' + +'The sea serpent?' asked Merton. + +'Seen him thrice,' said Bude. + +'Then why did not Jones Harvey weigh in with a letter to _Nature_?' + +'Jones Harvey has a scientific reputation to look after, and knows he +would be laughed at. That's the kind of hair-pin _he_ is,' said Bude, +quoting Miss McCabe. 'By Jove, Merton, that girl--' and he paused. + +'Yes, she is pretty,' said Merton. + +'Pretty! I have seen the women of the round world--before I went +to--well, never mind where, I used to think the Poles the most +magnificent, but _she_--' + +'Whips creation,' said Merton. 'But I,' he went on, 'am rather more +interested in these other extraordinary animals. Do you seriously +believe, with your experience, that some extinct species are--not +extinct?' + +'To be sure I do. The world is wide. But they are very shy. I once +stalked a Bunyip, in Central Australia, in a lagoon. The natives said he +was there: I watched for a week, squatting in the reeds, and in the grey +of the seventh dawn I saw him.' + +'Did you shoot?' + +'No, I observed him through a field glass first.' + +'What is the beggar like?' + +'Much like some of the Highland water cattle, as described, but it is his +ears they take for horns. Australia has no indigenous horned animal. He +is, I should say, about nine feet long, marsupial (he rose breast high), +and web-footed. I saw that when he dived. Other white men have seen +him--Buckley, the convict, for one, when he lived among the blacks.' + +'Buckley was not an accurate observer.' + +'Jones Harvey is.' + +'Any other queer beasts?' + +'Of course, plenty. You have heard of the Mylodon, the gigantic Sloth? +His bones, skin, and hair were lately found in a cave in Patagonia, with +a lot of his fodder. You can see them at the British Museum in South +Kensington. Primitive Patagonian man used the female of the species as a +milch-cow. He was a genial friendly kind of brute, accessible to charm +of manner and chopped hay. They fed him on that, in a domesticated +state.' + +'But he is extinct. Hesketh Pritchard went to look for a live Mylodon, +and did not find him.' + +'Did not know where to look,' said Bude. + +'But you do?' asked Merton. + +'Yes, I think so.' + +'Then why don't you bring one over to the Zoo?' + +'I may some day.' + +'Are there any more survivors of extinct species?' + +'Merton, is this an interview? Are you doing Mr. Jones Harvey at home +for a picture paper?' + +'No, I've dropped the Press,' said Merton, 'I ask in a spirit of +scientific curiosity.' + +'Well, there is the Dinornis, the Moa of New Zealand. A bird as big as +the Roc in the "Arabian Nights."' + +'Have you seen _him_?' + +'No, but I have seen _her_, the hen bird. She was sitting on eggs. No +man knows her nest but myself, and old Te-iki-pa, the chief medicine-man, +or Tohunga, of the Maori King. The Moa's eyrie is in the King's country. +It is a difficult country, and a dangerous business, if the cock Moa +chances to come home.' + +'Bude, is this worthy of an old friend, this _blague_?' + +'Do you doubt my word?' + +'If you give me your word I must believe--that you dreamed it.' + +_Then a strange thing happened_. + +Bude walked to a small case of instruments that stood on a table in the +smoking-room. He unlocked it, took out a lancet, brought a Rhodian bowl +from a shelf, and bared his arm. + +'Do you want proof?' + +'Proof that you saw a hen Moa sitting?' asked Merton in amazement. + +'Not exactly, but proof that Te-iki-pa knew a thing or two, quite as out +of the way as the habitat of the Moa.' + +'What do you want me to do?' + +'Bare your arm, and hold it over the bowl.' + +The room was full of the yellow dusky light of an early summer morning in +London. Outside the heavy carts were rolling by: in full civilisation +the scene was strange. + +'The Blood Covenant?' asked Merton. + +Bude nodded. + +Merton turned up his cuff, Bude let a little blood drop into the bowl, +then performed the same operation on his own arm. + +'This is all rot,' he said, 'but without this I cannot show you, by +virtue of my oath to Te-iki-pa, what I mean to show you. Now repeat +after me what I am going to say.' + +He spoke a string of words, among which Merton, as he repeated them, +could only recognise _mana_ and _atua_. The vowel sounds were as in +Italian. + +'Now these words you must never report to any one, without my +permission.' + +'Not likely,' said Merton, 'I only remember two of them, and these I knew +before.' + +'All right,' said Bude. + +He then veiled his face in a piece of silk that lay on a sofa, and +rapidly, in a low voice, chanted a kind of hymn in a tongue unknown to +Merton. All this he did with a bored air, as if he thought the +performance a superfluous mummery. + +'Now what shall I show you? Something simple. Look at the bookcase, and +think of any book you may want to consult.' + +Merton thought of the volume in M. of the _Encyclopaedia Britannica_. The +volume slowly slid from the shelf, glided through the air to Merton, and +gently subsided on the table near him, open at the word _Moa_. + +Merton walked across to the bookcase, took all the volumes from the +shelf, and carefully examined the backs and sides for springs and +mechanical advantages. There were none. + +'Not half bad!' he said, when he had completed his investigation. + +'You are satisfied that Te-iki-pa knew something? If you had seen what I +have seen, if you had seen the three days dead--' and Bude shivered +slightly. + +'I have seen enough. Do you know how it is done?' + +'No.' + +'Well, a miracle is not what you call logical proof, but I believe that +you did see the Moa, and a still more extraordinary bird, Te-iki-pa.' + +'Yes, they talk of strange beasts, but "nothing is stranger than man." +Did you ever hear of the Berbalangs of Cagayan Sulu?' + +'Never in my life,' said Merton. + +'Heaven preserve me from _them_,' said Bude, and he gently stroked the +strange muddy pearls in the sleeve-links on his loose shirt-cuff. 'Angels +and ministers of grace defend us,' he exclaimed, crossing himself (he was +of the old faith), and he fell silent. + +It was a moment of emotion. Six silvery strokes were sounded from a +little clock on the chimney-piece. The hour of confidences had struck. + +'Bude, you are serious about Miss McCabe?' asked Merton. + +'I mean to put it to the touch at Goodwood.' + +'No use!' said Merton. + +Bude changed colour. + +'Are _you_?' + +'No,' interrupted Merton. 'But she is not free.' + +'There is somebody in America? Nobody here, I think.' + +'It is hardly that,' said Merton. 'Can you listen to rather a long +story? I'll cut it as much as possible. You must remember that I am +practically breaking my word of honour in telling you this. My honour is +in your hands.' + +'Fire away,' said Bude, pouring a bottle of Apollinaris water into a long +tumbler, and drinking deep. + +Merton told the tale of Miss McCabe's extraordinary involvement, and of +the wild conditions on which her hand was to be won. 'And as to her +heart, I think,' he added, 'if you pull off the prize-- + + If my heart by signs can tell, + Lordling, I have marked her daily, + And I think she loves thee well.' + +'Thank you for that, old cock,' replied the peer, shaking Merton's hand. +He had recovered from his emotion. + +'I'm on,' he added, after a moment's silence, 'but I shall enter as Jones +Harvey.' + +'His name and his celebrated papers will impress the trustees,' said +Merton. 'Now what variety of nature shall you go for? Wild _men_ count. +Shall you fetch a Berbalang of what do you call it?' + +Bude shuddered. 'Not much,' he said. 'I think I shall fetch a Moa.' + +'But no steamer could hold that gigantic denizen of the forests.' + +'You leave that to Jones Harvey. Jones is 'cute, some,' he said, +reminiscent of the adored one, and he fell into a lover's reverie. + +He was aroused by Merton's departure: he finished the Apollinaris water, +took a bath, and went to bed. + + + +II. The Adventure of the Muddy Pearls + + +The Earl of Bude had meant to lay his heart, coronet, and other +possessions, real and personal, before the tiny feet of the fair American +at Goodwood. But when he learned from Merton the involvements of this +heiress and paragon, that her hand depended on the choice of the people, +that the choice of the people was to settle on the adventurer who brought +to New York the rarest of nature's varieties, the earl honourably held +his peace. Yet he and the object of his love were constantly meeting, on +the yachts and in the country houses of their friends, the aristocracy, +and, finally, at shooting lodges in the Highlands. Their position, as +the Latin Delectus says concerning the passion of love in general, was 'a +strange thing, and full of anxious fears.' Bude could not declare +himself, and Miss McCabe, not knowing that he knew her situation, was +constantly wondering why he did not speak. Between fear of letting her +secret show itself in a glance or a blush and hope of listening to the +words which she desired to hear, even though she could not answer them as +her heart prompted, she was unhappy. Bude could not resist the +temptation to be with her--indeed he argued to himself that, as her +suitor and an adventurer about to risk himself in her cause, he had a +right to be near her. Meanwhile Merton was the confidant of both of the +perplexed lovers; at least Miss McCabe (who, of course, told him nothing +about Bude) kept him apprised as to the conduct of her trustees. + +They had acted with honourable caution and circumspection. Their +advertisements guardedly appealed to men of daring and of scientific +distinction under the age of thirty-five. A professorship might have +been in view for all that the world could see, if the world read the +advertisements. Perhaps it was something connected with the manufacture +of original explosives, for daring is not usually required in the +learned. The testimonials and printed works of applicants were jealously +scrutinised. At personal interviews with competitors similar caution was +observed. During three weeks in August the papers announced that Lord +Bude was visiting the States; arrangements about a yachting match in the +future were his pretence. He returned, he came to Scotland, and it was +in a woodland path beside the Lochy that his resolution failed, and that +he spoke to Miss McCabe. They were walking home together from the river +in the melancholy and beautiful close of a Highland day in September. +Behind them the gillies, at a respectful distance, were carrying the rods +and the fish. The wet woods were fragrant, the voice of the stream was +deepening, strange lights came and went on moor and hills and the distant +loch. It was then that Bude opened his heart. He first candidly +explained that his heart, he had supposed, was dead--buried on a distant +and a deadly shore. + +'I reckon there's a lost Lenore most times,' Miss McCabe had replied to +this confession. + +But, though never to be forgotten, the memory of the lost one, Bude +averred, was now merged in the light of a living love; his heart was no +longer tenanted only by a shadow. + +The heart of Miss McCabe stood still for a moment, her cheek paled, but +the gallant girl was true to herself, to her father's wish, to her native +land, to the flag. She understood her adorer. + +'Guess _I_'m bespoke,' said Miss McCabe abruptly. + +'You are another's! Oh, despair!' exclaimed the impassioned earl. + +'Yes, I reckon I'm the Bride of Seven, like the girl in the poem.' + +'The Bride of Seven?' said Bude. + +'One out of _that_ crowd will call me his,' said Miss McCabe, handing to +her adorer the list, which she had received by mail a day or two earlier, +of the accepted competitors. He glanced over the names. + +1. Dr. Hiram P. Dodge, of the Smithsonian Institute. + +2. Alfred Jenkins, F.R.S., All Souls College, Oxford. + +3. Dr. James Rustler, Columbia University. + +4. Howard Fry, M.A., Ph.D., Trinity College, Cambridge. + +5. Professor Potter, F.R.S., University of St. Andrews. + +6. Professor Wilkinson, University of Harvard. + +7. Jones Harvey, F.G.S., London, England. + +'In Heaven's name,' asked the earl, 'what means this mystification? Miss +McCabe, Melissa, do not trifle with me. Is this part of the great +American Joke? You are playing it pretty low down on me, Melissa!' he +ended, the phrase being one of those with which she had made him +familiar. + +She laughed hysterically: 'It's honest Injun,' she said, and in the +briefest terms she told him (what he knew very well) the conditions on +which her future depended. + +'They are a respectable crowd, I don't deny it,' she went on, 'but, oh, +how dull! That Mr. Jenkins, I saw him at your Commemoration. He gave us +luncheon, and showed us dry old bones of beasts and savage notions at the +Museum. I _druther_ have been on the creek,' by which name she intended +the classical river Isis. + +'Dr. Hiram P. Dodge is one of our rising scientists, a boss of the +Smithsonian Institute. Well, Washington is a finer location than Oxford! +Dr. Rustler is a crank; he thinks he can find a tall talk mummy that +speaks an unknown tongue.' + +'A Toltec mummy? Ah,' said Bude, 'I know where to find one of _them_.' + +'Find it then, Alured!' exclaimed Miss McCabe, blushing scarlet and +turning aside. 'But you are not on the list. You are an idler, and not +scientific, not worth a red cent. There, I've given myself away!' She +wept. + +They were alone, beneath the walls of a crumbling fortalice of Lochiel. +The new risen moon saw Bude embrace her and dry her tears. A nameless +blissful hope awakened in the fair American; help there _must_ be, she +thought, with these strong arms around her. + +She rapidly disposed of the remaining names: of Howard Fry, who had a red +beard; of Professor Potter of St. Andrews, whose accent was Caledonian; +of Wilkinson, an ardent but unalluring scientist. 'As for Jones Harvey,' +she said, 'I've canvassed everywhere, and I can't find anybody that ever +saw him. I am more afraid of him than of all the other galoots; I don't +know why.' + +'He is reckoned very learned,' said Bude, 'and has not been thought ill- +looking.' + +'Do tell!' said Miss McCabe. + +'Oh, Melissa, can you even _dream_ of another in an hour like this?' + +'Did you ever see Jones Harvey?' + +'Yes, I have met him.' + +'Do you know him well?' + +'No man knows him better.' + +'Can't you get him to stand out, and, Alured, can't you--fetch along that +old tall talk mummy? He would hit our people, being American himself.' + +'It is impossible. Jones Harvey will never stand out,' and Bude smiled. + +By the telepathy of the affections Miss McCabe was slowly informed, +especially as Bude's smile widened almost unbecomingly, while he gazed +into the deeps of her golden eyes. + +'Alured,' she exclaimed, '_that's_ why you went to the States. +_You_--are--Jones Harvey!' + +'Secret for secret,' whispered the earl. 'We have both given ourselves +away. Unknown to the world I _am_ Jones Harvey; to live for you: to love +you: to dare; if need be, to die for you.' + +'Well, you surprise me!' said Miss McCabe. + +* * * * * + +The narrator is unwilling to dilate on the delights of a privileged +affection. In this love affair neither of the lovers could feel +absolutely certain that their affection _was_ privileged. The fair +American had her own secret scheme if her hopes were blighted. She +_could_ not then obey the paternal will: she would retire into the life +religious, and, as Sister Anna, would strive to forget the sorrows of +Melissa McCabe. Bude had his own hours of gloom. + +'It is a six-to-one chance,' he said to Merton when they met. + +'Better than that, I think,' said Merton. 'First, you know exactly what +you are entered for. Do the others? When you saw the trustees in the +States, did they tell you about the prize?' + +'Not they. They spoke of a pecuniary reward which would be eminently +satisfactory, and of the opportunity for research and distinction, and +all expenses found. I said that I preferred to pay my own way, which +surprised and pleased them a good deal.' + +'Well, then, knowing the facts, and the lady, you have a far stronger +motive than the other six.' + +'That's true,' said Bude. + +'Again, though the others are good men (not that I like Jenkins of All +Souls), none of them has your experience and knowledge. Jones Harvey's +testimonials would carry it if it were a question of election to a +professorship.' + +'You flatter me,' answered Bude. + +'_Lastly, did the trustees ask you if you were a married man_?' + +'No, by Jove, they didn't.' + +'Well, nothing about the competitors being unmarried men occurs in the +clause of McCabe's last will and testament. He took it for granted, the +prize being what it is, that only bachelors were eligible. But he forgot +to say so, in so many words, and the trustees did not go beyond the deed. +Now, Dodge is married; Fry of Trinity is a married don; Rustler (I happen +to know) is an engaged man, who can't afford to marry a charming girl in +Detroit, Michigan; and Professor Potter has buried one wife, and wedded +another. If Rustler is loyal to his plighted word, you have nobody +against you but Wilkinson and old Jenkins of All Souls--a tough customer, +I admit, though what a Stinks man like him has to do at All Souls I don't +know.' + +'I say, this is hard on the other sportsmen! What ought I to do? Should +I tell them?' + +'You can't: you have no official knowledge of their existence. You only +know through Miss McCabe. You have just to sit tight.' + +'It seems beastly unsportsmanlike,' said Bude. + +'Wills are often most carelessly drafted,' answered Merton, 'and the +usual consequences follow.' + +'It is not cricket,' said Bude, and really he seemed much more depressed +than elated by the reduction of the odds against him from 6 to 1 to 2 to +1. + +This is the magnificent type of character produced by our British system +of athletic sports, though it is not to be doubted that the spirit of +Science, in the American gentlemen, would have been equally productive of +the sense of fair play. + +* * * * * * + +A year, by the terms of McCabe's will, was allotted to the quest. +Candidates were to keep the trustees informed as to their whereabouts. +Six weeks before the end of the period the competitors would be +instructed as to the port of rendezvous, where an ocean liner, chartered +by the trustees, was to await them. Bude, as Jones Harvey, had obtained +leave to sail his own steam yacht of 800 tons. + +The earl's preparations were simple. He carried his usual stock of +scientific implements, his usual armament, including two Maxim guns, and +a package of considerable size and weight, which was stored in the hold. +As to the preparations of the others he knew nothing, but Miss McCabe +became aware that Rustler had not left the American continent. Concerning +Jenkins, and the probable aim of his enterprise, the object of his quest, +she gleaned information from a junior Fellow of All Souls, who was her +slave, was indiscreet, and did not know how deeply concerned she was in +the expeditions. But she never whispered a word of what she knew to her +lover, not even in the hour of parting. + +It was in an unnamed creek of the New Zealand coast, six weeks before the +end of the appointed year, that Bude received a telegram in cipher from +the trustees. Bearded, and in blue spectacles, clad rudely as a mariner, +Bude was to all, except Logan, who had accompanied him, plain Jones +Harvey. None could have recognised in his rugged aspect the elegant +aristocrat of Mayfair. + +Bude took the message from the hands of the Maori bearer. As he +deciphered it his fingers trembled with eagerness. 'Oh, Heaven! Here is +the Hand of Destiny!' he exclaimed, when he had read the message; and +with pallid face he dropped into a deck-chair. + +'No bad news?' asked Logan with anxiety. + +'The port of rendezvous,' said Bude, much agitated. 'Come down to my +cabin.' + +Entering the sumptuous cabin, Bude opened the locked door of a +state-room, and uttered some words in an unknown tongue. A tall and very +ancient Maori, tatooed with the native 'Moka' on every inch of his body, +emerged. The snows of some eighty winters covered his broad breast and +majestic head. His eyes were full of the secrets of primitive races. For +clothing he wore two navy revolvers stuck in a waist-cloth. + +'Te-iki-pa,' said Bude, in the Maori language, 'watch by the door, we +must have no listeners, and your ears are keen as those of the youngest +Rangatira' (warrior). + +The august savage nodded, and, lying down on the floor, applied his ear +to the chink at its foot. + +'The port of tryst,' whispered Bude to Logan, as they seated themselves +at the remotest extremity of the cabin, 'is in Cagayan Sulu.' + +'And where may that be?' asked Logan, lighting a cigarette. + +'It is a small volcanic island, the most southerly of the Philippines.' + +'American territory now,' said Logan. 'But what about it? If it was +anybody but you, Bude, I should say he was in a funk.' + +'I _am_ in a funk,' answered Bude simply. + +'Why?' + +'I have been there before and left--a blood-feud.' + +'What of it? We have one here, with the Maori King, about you know what. +Have we not the Maxims, and any quantity of Lee-Metfords? Besides, you +need not go ashore at Cagayan Sulu.' + +'But they can come aboard. Bullets won't stop _them_.' + +'Stop whom? The natives?' + +'The Berbalangs: you might as well try to stop mosquitoes with Maxims.' + +'Who are the Berbalangs then?' + +Bude paced the cabin in haggard anxiety. 'Least said, soonest mended,' +he muttered. + +'Well, I don't want your confidence,' said Logan, hurt. + +'My dear fellow,' said Bude affectionately, 'you are likely to know soon +enough. In the meantime, please accept this.' + +He opened a strong box, which appeared to contain jewellery, and offered +Logan a ring. Between two diamonds of the finest water it contained a +bizarre muddy coloured pearl. 'Never let that leave your finger,' said +Bude. 'Your life may hang on it.' + +'It is a pretty talisman,' said Logan, placing the jewel on the little +finger of his right hand. 'A token of some friendly chief, I suppose, at +Cagayan--what do you call it?' + +'Let us put it at that,' answered Bude; 'I must take other precautions.' + +It seemed to Logan that these consisted in making similar presents to the +officers and crew, all of whom were Englishmen. Te-iki-pa displaced his +nose-ring and inserted his pearl in the orifice previously occupied by +that ornament. A little chain of the pearls was hung on the padlock of +the huge packing-case, which was the special care of Te-iki-pa. + +'Luckily I had the yacht's painting altered before leaving England,' said +Bude. 'I'll sail her under Spanish colours, and perhaps they won't spot +her. Any way, with the pearls--lucky I bought a lot--we ought to be safe +enough. But if any one of the competitors has gone for specimens of the +Berbalangs, I fear, I sadly fear, the consequences.' His face clouded; +he fell into a reverie. + +Logan made no reply, but puffed rings of cigarette smoke into the still +blue air. There was method in Bude's apparent madness, but Logan +suspected that there was madness in his method. + +A certain coolness had not ceased to exist between the friends when, +after their long voyage, they sighted the volcanic craters of the lonely +isle of Cagayan Sulu and beheld the Stars and Stripes waving from the +masthead of the _George Washington_ (Captain Noah P. Funkal). + +Logan landed, and noted the harmless but well-armed half-Mahometan +natives of the village. He saw the other competitors, whose 'exhibits,' +as Miss McCabe called them, were securely stored in the _George +Washington_--strange spoils of far-off mysterious forests, and unplumbed +waters of the remotest isles. Occasionally a barbaric yap, or a weird +yell or hoot, was wafted on the air at feeding time. Jenkins of All +Souls (whom he knew a little) Logan did not meet on the beach; he, like +Bude, tarried aboard ship. The other adventurers were civil but remote, +and there was a jealous air of suspicion on every face save that of +Professor Potter. He, during the day of waiting on the island, played +golf with Logan over links which he had hastily improvised. Beyond +admitting, as they played, that _his_ treasure was in a tank, 'and as +well as could be expected, poor brute, but awful noisy,' Professor Potter +offered no information. + +'Our find is quiet enough,' said Logan. + +'Does he give you trouble about food?' asked Mr. Potter. + +'Takes nothing,' said Logan, adding, as he holed out, 'that makes me +dormy two.' + +From the rest of the competitors not even this amount of information +could be extracted, and as for Captain Noah Funkal, he was taciturn, +authoritative, and, Logan thought, not in a very good temper. + +The _George Washington_ and the _Pendragon_ (so Jones Harvey had +christened the yacht which under Bude's colours sailed as _The Sabrina_) +weighed anchor simultaneously. If possible they were not to lose sight +of each other, and they corresponded by signals and through the +megalophone. + +The hours of daylight on the first day of the return voyage passed +peacefully at deck-cricket, as far as Logan, Bude, and such of the +officers and men as could be spared were concerned. At last night came +'at one stride,' and the vast ocean plain was only illuminated by the +pale claritude that falls from the stars. Logan and Bude (they had not +dressed for dinner, but wore yachting suits) were smoking on deck, when, +quite suddenly, a loud, almost musical, roar or hum was heard from the +direction of the distant island. + +'What's that?' asked Logan, leaping up and looking towards Cagayan Sulu. + +'The Berbalangs,' said Bude coolly. 'You are wearing the ring I gave +you?' + +'Yes, always do,' said Logan, looking at his hand. + +'All the men have their pearls; I saw to that,' said Bude. + +'Why, the noise is dwindling,' said Logan. 'That is odd; it seemed to be +coming this way.' + +'So it is,' said Bude; 'the nearer they approach the less you hear them. +When they have come on board you won't hear them at all.' + +Logan stared, but asked no more questions. + +The musical boom as it approached had died to a whisper, and then had +fallen into perfect silence. At the very moment when the mysterious +sound ceased, a swarm of things like red fire-flies, a host of floating +specks of ruby light, invaded the deck in a cluster. The red points then +scattered, approached each man on board, and paused when within a yard of +his head or breast. Then they vanished. A queer kind of chill ran down +Logan's spine; then the faint whispered musical moan tingled in each +man's ears, and the sounds as they departed eastwards gathered volume and +force till, in a moment, there fell perfect stillness. + +Stillness, broken only by a sudden and mysterious chorus of animal cries +from the _George Washington_. A kind of wail, high, shrieking, +strenuous, ending in a noise as of air escaping from a pipe; a torrent of +barks such as no known beast could utter, subsiding into moans that +chilled the blood; a guttural scream, broken by heavy sounds as if of +water lapping on a rock at uncertain intervals; a human cry, human words, +with unfamiliar vowel sounds, soon slipping into quiet--these were among +the horrors that assailed the ears of the voyagers in the _Pendragon_. +Such a discord of laments has not tingled to the indifferent stars since +the ice-wave swept into their last retreats, and crushed among the rocks +that bear their fossil forms, the fauna of the preglacial period, the +Ichthyosaurus, the Brontosaurus, the Guyas Cutis (or Ring-tailed Roarer), +the Mastodon, and the Mammoth. + +'What a row in the menagerie!' said Logan. + +He was not answered. + +Bude had fallen into a deck-chair, his face buried in his hands, his arms +rocking convulsively. + +'I say, old cock, pull yourself together,' said Logan, and rushing down +the companion stairs, he reappeared with a bottle of champagne. To +extract the cork (how familiar, how reassuring, sounded the _cloop_!), +and to pour the foaming beverage into two long tumblers, was, to the +active Logan, the work of a moment. Shaking Bude, he offered him the +beaker; the earl drained it at a draught. He shuddered, but rose to his +feet. + +'Not a man alive on that doomed vessel,' he was saying, when anew the +still air was rent by the raucous notes of a megalophone: + +'Is _your_ exhibit all right?' + +'Fit as a fiddle,' answered Logan through a similar instrument. + +'Our exhibits are gone bust,' answered Captain Noah Funkal. 'Our +professors are in fits. Our darkeys are all dead. Can your skipper come +aboard?' + +'Just launching a boat,' cried Logan. + +Bude gave the necessary orders. His captain stepped up to him and +saluted. + +'Do you know what these red fire-flies were that come aboard, sir?' he +asked. + +'Fire-flies? Oh, _musae volitantes sonorae_, a common phenomenon in +these latitudes,' answered Bude. + +Logan rejoiced to see that the earl was himself again. + +'The other gentlemen's scientific beasts don't seem to like them, sir?' + +'So Captain Funkal seems to imply,' said Bude, and, taking the ropes, +with Logan beside him, while the _Pendragon_ lay to, he steered the boat +towards the _George Washington_. + +The captain welcomed them on deck in a scene of unusual character. He +himself had a revolver in one hand, and a belaying pin in the other; he +had been quelling, by the tranquillising methods of Captain Kettle, a +mutiny caused by the terror of the crew. The sailors had attempted to +leap overboard in the alarm caused by the invasion of the Berbalangs. + +'You will excuse my friend and myself for not being in evening dress, +during a visit at this hour,' said Bude in the silkiest of tones. + +'Glad to see you shipshape, gentlemen,' answered the American mariner. +'My dudes of professors were prancing round in Tuxedos and Prince Alberts +when the darned fire-flies came aboard.' + +Bude bowed. Study of Miss McCabe had taught him that Tuxedos and Prince +Alberts mean evening dress and frock-coats. + +'Did _your_ men have fits?' asked the captain. + +'My captain, Captain Hardy, made a scientific inquiry about the--insects,' +said Bude. 'The crew showed no emotion.' + +'I guess our fire-bugs were more on business than yours,' said Captain +Funkal; 'they've wrecked the exhibits, and killed the darkeys with +fright: except two, and _they_ were exhibits themselves. Will you honour +me by stepping into my cabin, gentlemen. I am glad to see sane white men +to-night.' + +Bude and Logan followed him through a scene of melancholy interest. +Beside the mast, within a shattered palisade, lay huddled the vast corpse +of the Mylodon of Patagonia, couchant amidst his fodder of chopped hay. +The expression of the huge animal was placid and urbane in death. He was +the victim of the ceaseless curiosity of science. Two of the five-horned +antelope giraffes of Central Africa lay in a confused heap of horns and +hoofs. Beside an immense tank couched a figure in evening dress, +swearing in a subdued tone. Logan recognised Professor Potter. He +gently laid his hand on the Professor's shoulder. The Scottish savant +looked up: + +'It is a dommed mismanaged affair,' he said. 'I could have brought the +poor beast safe enough from the Clyde to New York, but the Americans made +me harl him round by yon island of camstairy deevils,' and he shook his +fist in the direction of Cagayan Sulu. + +'What had you got?' asked Logan. + +'The _Beathach na Loch na bheiste_,' said Potter. 'I drained the Loch to +get him. Fortunately,' he added, 'it was at the expense of the Trust.' + +After a few words of commonplace but heartfelt condolence, Logan +descended the companion, and followed Bude and Captain Funkal into the +cabin of that officer. The captain placed refreshments on the table. + +'Now, gentlemen,' he said, 'you have seen the least riled of my +professors, and you can guess what the rest are like. Professor Rustler +is weeping in his cabin over a shrivelled old mummy. "Never will he +speak again," says he, and I am bound to say that I _hev_ heard the +critter discourse once. The mummy let some awful yells out of him when +the fire-bugs came aboard.' + +'Yes, we heard a human cry,' said Bude. + +'I had thought the talk was managed with a concealed gramophone,' said +the captain, 'but it wasn't. The Bunyip from Central Australia has gone +to his long home. That was Professor Wilkinson's pet. There is nothing +left alive out of the lot but the natives that Professor Jenkins of +England brought in irons from Cagayan Sulu. I reckon them two niggers +are somehow at the bottom of the whole ruction.' + +'Indeed, and why?' asked Bude. + +'Why, sir--I am addressing Professor Jones Harvey?' + +Bude bowed. 'Harvey, captain, but not professor--simple amateur seaman +and explorer.' + +'Sir, your hand,' said the captain. 'Your friend is not a professor?' + +'Not I,' said Logan, smiling. + +The captain solemnly shook hands. 'Gentlemen, you have sand,' he said, a +supreme tribute of respect. 'Well, about these two natives. I never +liked taking them aboard. They are, in consequence of the triumph of our +arms, American subjects, natives of the conquered Philippines. I am no +lawyer, and they may be citizens, they may have votes. They are +entitled, anyway, to the protection of the Flag, and I would have entered +them as steerage passengers. But that Professor Jenkins (and the other +professors agreed) would have it that they came under the head of +scientific exhibits. And they did allow that the critters were highly +dangerous. I guess they were right.' + +'Why, what could they do?' + +'Well, gentlemen, I heard stories on shore that I took no stock in. I am +not a superstitious man, but they allowed that these darkeys are not of a +common tribe, but what the papers call "highly developed mediums." And I +guess they are at the bottom of the stramash.' + +'Captain Funkal, may I be frank with you?' asked Bude. + +'I am hearing you,' said the captain. + +'Then, to put it shortly, I have been at Cagayan Sulu before, on an +exploring cruise. That was in 1897. I never wanted to go back to it. +Logan, did I not regret the choice of that port when the news reached us +in New Zealand?' + +Logan nodded. 'You funked it,' he said. + +'When I was at Cagayan Sulu in 1897 I heard from the natives of a +singular tribe in the centre of the island. This tribe is the +Berbalangs.' + +'That's what Professor Jenkins called them,' said the captain. + +'The Berbalangs are subject to neither of the chiefs in the island. No +native will approach their village. They are cannibals. The story is +that they can throw themselves into a kind of trance. They then project +a something or other--spirit, astral body, influence of some kind--which +flies forth, making a loud noise when distant.' + +'That's what we heard,' said the captain. + +'But is silent when they are close at hand.' + +'Silent they were,' said the captain. + +'They then appear as points of red flame.' + +'That's so,' interrupted the captain. + +'And cause death to man and beast, apparently by terror. I have seen,' +said Bude, shuddering, 'the face of a dead native of high respectability, +into whose house, before my own eyes, these points of flame had entered. +I had to force the door, it was strongly barred within. I never +mentioned the fact before, knowing that I could not expect belief.' + +'Well, sir, I believe you. You are a white man.' + +Bude bowed, and went on. 'The circumstances, though not generally known, +have been published, captain, by a gentleman of reputation, Mr. Edward +Forbes Skertchley, of Hong Kong. His paper indeed, in the _Journal_ of a +learned association, the Asiatic Society of Bengal, {232}induced me, most +unfortunately, to visit Cagayan Sulu, when it was still nominally in the +possession of the Spaniards. My experience was similar to that of Mr. +Skertchley, but, for personal reasons, was much more awful and +distressing. One of the most beautiful of the island girls, a person of +most amiable and winning character, not, alas! of my own faith'--Bude's +voice broke--'was one of the victims of the Berbalangs. . . . I loved +her.' + +He paused, and covered his face with his hands. The others respected and +shared his emotion. The captain, like all sailors, sympathetic, dashed +away a tear. + +'One thing I ought to add,' said Bude, recovering himself, 'I am no more +superstitious than you are, Captain Funkal, and doubtless science will +find a simple, satisfactory, and normal explanation of the facts, the +existence of which we are both compelled to admit. I have heard of no +well authenticated instance in which the force, whatever it is, has been +fatal to Europeans. The superstitious natives, much as they dread the +Berbalangs, believe that they will not attack a person who wears a cocoa- +nut pearl. Why this should be so, if so it is, I cannot guess. But, as +it is always well to be on the safe side, I provided myself five years +ago with a collection of these objects, and when I heard that we were +ordered to Cagayan Sulu I distributed them among my crew. My friend, you +may observe, wears one of the pearls. I have several about my person.' +He disengaged a pin from his necktie, a muddy pearl set with burning +rubies. 'Perhaps, Captain Funkal, you will honour me by accepting this +specimen, and wearing it while we are in these latitudes? If it does no +good, it can do no harm. We, at least, have not been molested, though we +witnessed the phenomena.' + +'Sir,' said the captain, 'I appreciate your kindness, and I value your +gift as a memorial of one of the most singular experiences in a seafaring +life. I drink your health and your friend's. Mr. Logan, to _you_.' The +captain pledged his guests. + +'And now, gentlemen, what am I to do?' + +'That, captain, is for your own consideration.' + +'I'll carpet that lubber, Jenkins,' said the captain, and leaving the +cabin, he returned with the Fellow of All Souls. His shirt front was +ruffled, his white neckcloth awry, his pallid countenance betrayed a +sensitive second-rate mind, not at unity with itself. He nodded sullenly +to Logan: Bude he did not know. + +'Professor Jenkins, Mr. Jones Harvey,' said the captain. 'Sit down, sir. +Take a drink; you seem to need one.' Jenkins drained the tumbler, and +sat with downcast eyes, his finger drumming nervously on the table. + +'Professor Jenkins, sir, I reckon you are the cause of the unparalleled +disaster to this exploring expedition. Why did you bring these two +natives of our territory on board, you well and duly knowing that the end +would not justify the proceedings?' A furtive glance from Jenkins +lighted on the diamonds that sparkled in Logan's ring. He caught Logan's +hand. + +'Traitor!' he cried. 'What will not scientific jealousy dare, that +meanest of the passions!' + +'What the devil do you mean?' said Logan angrily, wrenching his hand +away. + +'You leave Mr. Logan alone, sir,' said the captain. 'I have two minds to +put you in irons, Mr. Professor Jenkins. If you please, explain +yourself.' + +'I denounce this man and his companion,' said Jenkins, noticing a pearl +ring on Bude's finger; 'I denounce them of conspiracy, mean conspiracy, +against this expedition, and against the American flag.' + +'As how?' inquired the captain, lighting a cigar with irritating +calmness. + +'They wear these pearls, in which I had trusted for absolute security +against the Berbalangs.' + +'Well, I wear one too,' said the captain, pointing to the pin in his +necktie. 'Are you going to tell me that _I_ am a traitor to the flag, +sir? I warn you Professor, to be careful.' + +'What am I to think?' asked Jenkins. + +'It is rather more important what you _say_,' replied the captain. 'What +is this fine conspiracy?' + +'I had read in England about the Berbalangs.' + +'Probably in Mr. Skertchley's curious paper in the Journal of the Asiatic +Society of Bengal?' asked Bude with suavity. + +Jenkins merely stared at him. + +'I deemed that specimens of these American subjects, dowered with their +strange and baneful gift, were well worthy of the study of American +savants; and I knew that the pearls were a certain prophylactic.' + +'What's that?' asked the captain. + +'A kind of Universal Pain-Killer,' said Jenkins. + +'Well, you surprise me,' said the captain, 'a man of your education. Pain- +Killer!' and he expectorated dexterously. + +'I mean that the pearls keep off the Berbalangs,' said Jenkins. + +'Then why didn't you lay in a stock of the pearls?' asked the captain. + +'Because these conspirators had been before me. These men, or their +agents, had bought up, just before our arrival, every pearl in the +island. They had wormed out my secret, knew the object of my adventure, +knew how to ruin us all, and I denounce them.' + +'A corner in pearls. Well, it was darned 'cute,' said the captain +impartially. 'Now, Mr. Jones Harvey, and Mr. Logan, sir, what have _you_ +to say?' + +'Did Mr. Jenkins--I think you said that this gentleman's name is +Jenkins?--see the agent engaged in making this corner in pearls, or learn +his name?' asked Bude. + +'He was an Irish American, one McCarthy,' answered Jenkins sullenly. + +'I am unacquainted with the gentleman,' said Bude, 'and I never employed +any one for any such purpose. My visit to Cagayan Sulu was some years +ago, just after that of Mr. Skertchley. Captain Funkal, I have already +acquainted you with the facts, and you were kind enough to say that you +accepted my statement.' + +'I did, sir, and I do,' answered the captain. 'As for _you_,' he went +on, 'Mr. Professor Jenkins, when you found that your game was dangerous, +indeed likely to be ruinous, to this scientific expedition, and to the +crew of the _George Washington_--damn you, sir--you should have dropped +it. I don't know that I ever swore at a passenger before, and I beg your +pardon, you two English gentlemen, for so far forgetting myself. I don't +know, and these gentlemen don't know, who made the corner, but I don't +think our citizens want either you or your exhibits. The whole +population of the States, sir, not to mention the live stock, cannot +afford to go about wearing cocoa-nut pearls, a precaution which would be +necessary if I landed these venomous Berbalangs of yours on our shores: +man and wife too, likely to have a family of young Berbalangs. Snakes +are not a patch on these darkeys, and our coloured population, at least, +would be busted up.' + +The captain paused, perhaps attracted by the chance of thus solving the +negro problem. + +'So, I'll tell you what it is, gentlemen; and, Professor Jenkins, I'll +turn back and land these two native exhibits, and I'll put _you_ on +shore, Professor Jenkins, at Cagayan Sulu. Perhaps before a steamer +touches there--which is not once in a blue moon--you'll have had time to +write an exhaustive monograph on the Berbalangs, their manners and +customs.' + +Jenkins (who knew what awaited him) threw himself on the floor at the +feet of Captain Funkal. Horrified by the abject distress of one who, +after all, was their countryman, Bude and Logan induced the captain to +seclude Jenkins in his cabin. They then, by their combined entreaties, +prevailed on the officer to land the Berbalangs on their own island, +indeed, but to drop Jenkins later on civilised shores. Dawn saw the +_George Washington_ and the _Pendragon_ in the port of Cagayan Sulu, +where the fetters of the two natives, ill looking people enough, were +knocked off, and they themselves deposited on the quay, where, not being +popular, they were received by a hostile demonstration. The two vessels +then resumed their eastward course. The taxidermic appliances without +which Jones Harvey never sailed, and the services of his staff of +taxidermists, were placed at the disposal of his brother savants. By +this means a stuffed Mylodon, a stuffed Beathach, stuffed five-horned +antelopes and a stuffed Bunyip, with a common gorilla and the Toltec +mummy, now forever silent, were passed through the New York Custom House, +and consigned to the McCabe Museum of Natural Varieties. + +The immense case that contained the discovery of Jones Harvey was also +carefully conveyed to an apartment prepared for it in the same +repository. The competitors sought their hotels, Te-iki-pa marching +beside Logan and Jones Harvey. But, by special arrangement, either Jones +Harvey or his Maori ally always slept beside their mysterious case, which +they watched with passionate attention. Two or three days were spent in +setting up the stuffed exhibits. Then the trustees, through _The Yellow +Flag_ (the paper founded by the late Mr. McCabe), announced to the +startled citizens the nature of the competition. On successive days the +vast theatre of the McCabe Museum would be open, and each competitor, in +turn, would display to the public his contribution, and lecture on his +adventures and on the variety of nature which he had secured. + +While the death of the animals was deplored, nothing was said, for +obvious reasons, about the causes of the catastrophe. + +The general excitement was intense. Interviewers scoured the city, and +flocked, to little purpose, around the officials of the McCabe Museum. +Special trains were run from all quarters. The hotels were thronged. +'America,' it was announced, 'had taken hold of science, and was just +going to make science hum.' + +On the first day of the exhibition, Dr. Hiram Dodge displayed the stuffed +Mylodon. The agitation was unprecedented. America had bred, in ancient +days, and an American citizen had discovered, the monstrous yet amiable +animal whence prehistoric Patagonia drew her milk supplies and cheese +stuffs. Mr. Dodge's adventures, he modestly said, could only be +adequately narrated by Mr. Rider Haggard. Unluckily the Mylodon had not +survived the conditions of the voyage, the change of climates. The +applause was thunderous. Mr. Dodge gracefully expressed his obligations +to his fair and friendly rival, Mr. Jones Harvey, who had loaned his +taxidermic appliances. It did not appear to the public that the Mylodon +could be excelled in interest. The Toltec mummy, as he could no longer +talk, was flat on a falling market, nor was Mr. Rustler's narrative of +its conversational powers accepted by the scepticism of the populace, +though it was corroborated by Captain Funkal, Professor Dodge, and +Professor Wilkinson, who swore affidavits before a notary, within the +hearing of the multitude. The Beathach, exhibited by Professor Potter, +was reckoned of high anatomical interest by scientific characters, but it +was not of American habitat, and left the people relatively cold. On the +other hand, all the Macleans and Macdonnells of Canada and Nova Scotia +wept tears of joy at the corroboration of their tribal legends, and the +popularity of Professor Potter rivalled even that of Mr. Ian Maclaren. He +was at once engaged by Major Pond for a series of lectures. The +adventures of Howard Fry, in the taking of his gorilla, were reckoned +interesting, as were those of the captor of the Bunyip, but both animals +were now undeniably dead. The people could not feed them with waffles +and hominy cakes in the gardens of the institute. The savants wrangled +on the anatomical differences and resemblances of the Bunyip and the +Beathach; still the critters were, to the general mind, only stuffed +specimens, though unique. The African five-horned brutes (though in +quieter times they would have scored a triumph) did not now appeal to the +heart of the people. + +At last came the day when, in the huge crowded amphitheatre, with Te-iki- +pa by his side, Jones Harvey addressed the congregation. First he +exhibited a skeleton of a dinornis, a bird of about twenty-five feet in +height. + +'Now,' he went on, 'thanks to the assistance of a Maori gentleman, my +friend the Tohunga Te-iki-pa'--(cheers, Te-iki bows his +acknowledgments)--'I propose to exhibit to you _this_.' + +With a touch on the mechanism he unrolled the valves of a gigantic +incubator. Within, recumbent on cotton wool, the almost frenzied +spectators perceived two monstrous eggs, like those of the Roc of Arabian +fable. Te-iki-pa now chanted a brief psalm in his own language. One of +the eggs rolled gently in its place; then the other. A faint crackling +noise was heard, first from one, then from the other egg. From each +emerged the featherless head of a fowl--the species hitherto unknown to +the American continent. The necks pushed forth, then the shoulders, then +both shells rolled away in fragments, and the spectators gazed on two +fledgling Moas. Te-iki-pa, on inspection, pronounced them to be cock and +hen, and in healthy condition. The breed, he said, could doubtless be +acclimatised. + +The professors of the museum, by Jones Harvey's request, then closely +examined the chickens. There could be no doubt of it, they unanimously +asserted: these specimens were living deinornithe (which for scientific +men, is not a bad shot at the dual of deinornis). The American continent +was now endowed, through the enterprise of Mr. Jones Harvey, not only +with living specimens, but with a probable breed of a species hitherto +thought extinct. + +The cheering was led by Captain Funkal, who waved the Stars and Stripes +and the Union Jack. Words cannot do justice to the scene. Women +fainted, strong men wept, enemies embraced each other. For details we +must refer to the files of _The Yellow Flag_. A _plebiscite_ to select +the winner of the McCabe Prize was organised by that Journal. The Moas +(bred and exhibited by Mr. Jones Harvey) simply romped in, by 1,732,901 +votes, the Mylodon being a bad second, thanks to the Irish vote. + +Bude telegraphed 'Victory,' and Miss McCabe by cable answered 'Bully for +us.' + +The secret of these lovers was well kept. None who watches the +fascinating Countess of Bude as she moves through the gilded saloons of +Mayfair guesses that her hand was once the prize of success in a +scientific exploration. The identity of Jones Harvey remains a puzzle to +the learned. For the rest, a letter in which Jenkins told the story of +the Berbalangs was rejected by the Editor of _Nature_, and has not yet +passed even the Literary Committee of the Society for Psychical Research. +The classical authority on the Berbalangs is still the paper by Mr. +Skertchley in the _Journal_ of the Asiatic Society of Bengal. {242}The +scientific gentlemen who witnessed the onslaught of the Berbalangs have +convinced themselves (except Jenkins) that nothing of the sort occurred +in their experience. The evidence of Captain Funkal is rejected as +'marine.' + +Te-iki-pa decided to remain in New York as custodian of the Moas. He +occasionally obliges by exhibiting a few feats of native conjuring, when +his performances are attended by the _elite_ of the city. He knows that +his countrymen hold him in feud, but he is aware that they fear even more +than they hate the ex-medicine man of his Maori Majesty. + +The generosity of Bude and his Countess heaped rewards on Merton, who +vainly protested that his services had not been professional. + +The frequent appearance of new American novelists, whose works sell +250,000 copies in their first month, demonstrate that Mr. McCabe's scheme +for raising the level of genius has been as satisfactory as it was +original. Genius is riz. + +But who 'cornered' the muddy pearls in Cagayan Sulu? + +That secret is only known to Lady Bude, her confessor, and the +Irish-American agent whom she employed. For she, as we saw, had got at +the nature of poor Jenkins's project and had acquainted herself with the +wonderful properties of the pearls, which she cornered. + +As a patriot, she consoles herself for the loss of the other exhibits to +her country, by the reflection that Berbalangs would have been the most +mischievous of pauper immigrants. But of all this Bude knows nothing. + + + + +XI. ADVENTURE OF THE MISERLY MARQUIS + + +I. The Marquis consults Gray and Graham + + +Few men were, and perhaps no marquis was so unpopular as the Marquis of +Restalrig, Logan's maternal Scotch cousin, widely removed. He was the +last of his family, in the direct line, and on his death almost all his +vast wealth would go to nobody knew where. To be sure Logan himself +would succeed to the title of Fastcastle, which descends to heirs +general, but nothing worth having went with the title. Logan had only +the most distant memory of seeing the marquis when he himself was a +little boy, and the marquis gave him two sixpences. His relationship to +his opulent though remote kinsman had been of no service to him in the +struggle for social existence. It carried no 'expectations,' and did not +afford the most shadowy basis for a post obit. There was no entail, the +marquis could do as he liked with his own. + +'The Jews _may_ have been credulous in the time of Horace,' Logan said, +'but now they insist on the most drastic evidence of prospective wealth. +No, they won't lend me a shekel.' + +Events were to prove that other financial operators were better informed +than the chosen people, though to be sure their belief was displayed in a +manner at once grotesque and painfully embarrassing. + +Why the marquis was generally disliked we might explain, historically, if +we were acquainted with the tale of his infancy, early youth, and +adolescence. Perhaps he had been betrayed in his affections, and was +'taking it out' of mankind in general. But this notion implies that the +marquis once had some affections, a point not hitherto substantiated by +any evidence. Perhaps heredity was to blame, some unhappy blend of +parentage. An ancestor at an unknown period may have bequeathed to the +marquis the elements of his unalluring character. But the only ancestor +of marked temperament was the festive Logan of Restalrig, who conspired +over his cups to kidnap a king, laid out his plot on the lines of an +Italian novel, and died without being detected. This heroic ancestor +admitted that he hated 'arguments derived from religion,' and, so far, +the Marquis of Restalrig was quite with him, if the arguments bore on +giving to the poor, or, indeed, to any one. + +In fact the marquis was that unpopular character, a miser. Your miser +may be looked up to, in a way, as an ideal votary of Mammon, but he is +never loved. On his vast possessions, mainly in coal-fields, he was even +more detested than the ordinary run of capitalists. The cottages and +farmhouses on his estates were dilapidated and insanitary beyond what is +endurable. Of his many mansions, some were kept in decent repair, +because he drew many shillings from tourists admitted to view them. But +his favourite abode was almost as ruinous as his cottages, and an artist +in search of a model for the domestic interior of the Master of +Ravenswood might have found what he wanted at Kirkburn, the usual lair of +this avaricious nobleman. It was a keep of the sixteenth century, and +looked as if it had never been papered or painted since Queen Mary's +time. But it was near the collieries; and within its blackened walls, +and among its bleak fields and grimy trees, Lord Restalrig chose to live +alone, with an old man and an old woman for his attendants. The woman +had been his nurse; it was whispered in the district that she was also +his illegal-aunt, or perhaps even, so to speak, his illegal stepmother. +At all events, she endured more than anybody but a Scotch woman who had +been his nurse in childhood would have tolerated. To keep her in his +service saved him the cost of a pension, which even the marquis, people +thought, could hardly refuse to allow her. The other old servitor was +her husband, and entirely under her domination. Both might be reckoned +staunch, in the old fashion, 'to the name,' which Logan only bore by +accident, his grandmother having wedded a kinless Logan who had no +demonstrable connection with the house of Restalrig. Any mortal but the +marquis would probably have brought Logan up as his heir, for the +churlish peer had no nearer connection. But the marquis did more than +sympathise with the Roman emperor who quoted 'after me the Last Day.' The +emperor only meant that, after his time, he did not care how soon earth +and fire were mingled. The marquis, on the other hand, gave the +impression that, he once out of the way, he ardently desired the +destruction of the whole human race. He was not known ever to have +consciously benefited man or woman. He screwed out what he might from +everybody in his power, and made no returns which the law did not exact; +even these, as far as the income tax went, he kept at the lowest figure +possible. + +Such was the distinguished personage whose card was handed to Merton one +morning at the office. There had been no previous exchange of letters, +according to the rules of the Society, and yet Merton could not suppose +that the marquis wished to see him on any but business matters. 'He +wants to put a spoke in somebody's wheel,' thought Merton, 'but whose?' + +He hastily scrawled a note for Logan, who, as usual, was late, put it in +an envelope, and sealed it. He wrote: '_On no account come in_. +_Explanation later_! Then he gave the note to the office boy, impressed +on him the necessity of placing it in Logan's hands when he arrived, and +told the boy to admit the visitor. + +The marquis entered, clad in rusty black not unlike a Scotch peasant's +best raiment as worn at funerals. He held a dripping umbrella; his boots +were muddy, his trousers had their frayed ends turned up. He wore a +hard, cruel red face, with keen grey eyes beneath penthouses where age +had touched the original tawny red with snow. Merton, bowing, took the +umbrella and placed it in a stand. + +'You'll not have any snuff?' asked the marquis. + +Trevor had placed a few enamelled snuff-boxes of the eighteenth century +among the other costly _bibelots_ in the rooms, and, by an unusual +chance, one of them actually did contain what the marquis wanted. Merton +opened it and handed it to the peer, who, after trying a pinch on his +nostrils, poured a quantity into his hand and thence into a little black +mull made of horn, which he took from his breast pocket. 'It's good,' he +said. 'Better than I get at Kirkburn. You'll know who I am?' His +accent was nearly as broad as that of one of his own hinds, and he +sometimes used Scottish words, to Merton's perplexity. + +'Every one has heard of the Marquis of Restalrig,' said Merton. + +'Ay, and little to his good, I'll be bound?' + +'I do not listen to gossip,' said Merton. 'I presume, though you have +not addressed me by letter, that your visit is not unconnected with +business?' + +'No, no, no letters! I never was wasteful in postage stamps. But as I +was in London, to see the doctor, for the Edinburgh ones can make nothing +of the case--a kind of dwawming--I looked in at auld Nicky Maxwell's. She +gave me a good character of you, and she is one to lippen to. And you +make no charge for a first interview.' + +Merton vaguely conjectured that to 'lippen' implied some sort of caress; +however, he only said that he was obliged to Miss Maxwell for her kind +estimate of his firm. + +'Gray and Graham, good Scots names. You'll not be one of the Grahams of +Netherby, though?' + +'The name of the firm is merely conventional, a trading title,' said +Merton; 'if you want to know my name, there it is,' and he handed his +card to the marquis, who stared at it, and (apparently from motiveless +acquisitiveness) put it into his pocket. + +'I don't like an alias,' he said. 'But it seems you are to lippen to.' + +From the context Merton now understood that the marquis probably wished +to signify that he was to be trusted. So he bowed, and expressed a hope +that he was 'all that could be desired in the lippening way.' + +'You're laughing at my Doric?' asked the nobleman. 'Well, in the only +important way, it's not at my _expense_. Ha! Ha!' He shook a lumbering +laugh out of himself. + +Merton smiled--and was bored. + +'I'm come about stopping a marriage,' said the marquis, at last arriving +at business. + +'My experience is at your service,' said Merton. + +'Well,' went on the marquis, 'ours is an old name.' + +Merton remarked that, in the course of historical study, he had made +himself acquainted with the achievements of the house. + +'Auld warld tales! But I wish I could tell where the treasure is that +wily auld Logan quarrelled over with the wizard Laird of Merchistoun. +Logan would not implement the contract--half profits. But my wits are +wool gathering.' + +He began to wander round the room, looking at the mezzotints. He stopped +in front of one portrait, and said 'My Aunt!' Merton took this for an +exclamation of astonishment, but later found that the lady (after +Lawrence) really had been the great aunt of the marquis. + +Merton conceived that the wits of his visitor were worse than 'wool +gathering,' that he had 'softening of the brain.' But circumstances +presently indicated that Lord Restalrig was actually suffering from a +much less common disorder--softening of the heart. + +He returned to his seat, and helped himself to snuff out of the enamelled +gold box, on which Merton deemed it politic to keep a watchful eye. + +'Man, I'm sweir' (reluctant) 'to come to the point,' said Lord Restalrig. + +Merton erroneously understood him to mean that he was under oath or vow +to come to the point, and showed a face of attention. + +'I'm not the man I was. The doctors don't understand my case--they take +awful fees--but I see they think ill of it. And that sets a body +thinking. Have you a taste of brandy in the house?' + +As the visitor's weather-beaten ruddiness had changed to a ghastly ashen +hue, rather bordering on the azure, Merton set forth the liqueur case, +and drew a bottle of soda water. + +'No water,' said the peer; 'it's just ma twal' ours, an auld Scotch +fashion,' and he took without winking an orthodox dram of brandy. Then +he looked at the silver tops of the flasks. + +'A good coat!' he said. 'Yours?' + +Merton nodded. + +'Ye quarter the Douglas Heart. A good coat. Dod, I'll speak plain. The +name, Mr. Merton, when ye come to the end o' the furrow, the name is all +ye have left. We brought nothing into the world but the name, we take +out nothing else. A sore dispensation. I'm not the man I was, not this +two years. I must dispone, I know it well. Now the name, that I thought +that I cared not an empty whistle for, is worn to a rag, but I cannot +leave it in the mire. There's just one that bears it, one Logan by name, +and true Logan by the mother's blood. The mother's mother, my cousin, +was a bonny lass.' + +He paused; his enfeebled memory was wandering, no doubt, in scenes more +vivid to him than those of yesterday. + +Merton was now attentive indeed. The miserly marquis had become, to him, +something other than a curious survival of times past. There was a +chance for Logan, his friend, the last of the name, but Logan was firmly +affianced to Miss Markham, of the cloak department at Madame Claudine's. +And the marquis, as he said, 'had come about stopping a marriage,' and +Merton was to help him in stopping it, in disentangling Logan! + +The old man aroused himself. 'I have never seen the lad but once, when +he was a bairn. But I've kept eyes on him. He _has_ nothing, and since +I came to London I hear that he has gone gyte, I mean--ye'll not +understand me--he is plighted to a long-legged shop-lass, the daughter of +a ne'er-do-well Australian land-louper, a doctor. This must not be. Now +I'll speak plain to you, plainer than to Tod and Brock, my doers--ye call +them lawyers. _They_ did not make my will.' + +Merton prevented himself, by an effort, from gasping. He kept a +countenance of cold attention. But the marquis was coming to the point. + +'I have left all to the name, lands and rents, and mines, and money. But, +unless the lad marries in his own rank, I'll change my will. It's in the +hidie hole at Kirkburn, that Logan built to keep King Jamie in, when he +caught him. But the fool Ruthvens marred that job, and got their kail +through the reek. I'm wandering.' He helped himself to another dram, +and went on, 'Ye see what I want, ye must stop that marriage.' + +'But,' said Merton, 'as you are so kindly disposed towards your kinsman, +this Mr. Logan, may I ask whether it would not be wise to address him +yourself, as the head of his house? He may, surely he will, listen to +your objections.' + +'Ye do not know the Logans.' + +Merton concealed his smile. + +'Camstairy deevils! It's in the blood. Never once has he asked me for a +pound, never noticed me by word or letter. Faith, I wish all the world +had been as considerate to auld Restalrig! For me to say a word, let be +to make an offer, would just tie him faster to the lass. "Tyne troth, +tyne a'," that is the old bye-word.' + +Merton recognised his friend in this description, but he merely shook a +sympathetic head. 'Very unusual,' he remarked. 'You really have no hope +by this method?' + +'None at all, or I would not be here on this daft ploy. There's no fool +like an auld fool, and, faith, I hardly know the man I was. But they +cannot dispute the will. I drew doctors to witness that I was of sound +and disponing mind, and I've since been thrice to kirk and market. Lord, +how they stared to see auld Restalrig in his pew, that had not smelt +appleringie these forty years.' + +Merton noted these words, which he thought curious and obscure. 'Your +case interests me deeply,' he said, 'and shall receive my very best +attention. You perceive, of course, that it is a difficult case, Mr. +Logan's character and tenacity being what you describe. I must make +careful inquiries, and shall inform you of progress. You wish to see +this engagement ended?' + +'And the lad on with a lass of his rank,' said the marquis. + +'Probably that will follow quickly on the close of his present affection. +It usually does in our experience,' said Merton, adding, 'Am I to write +to you at your London address?' + +'No, sir; these London hotels would ruin the cunzie' (the Mint). + +Merton wondered whether the Cunzie was the title of some wealthy Scotch +peer. + +'And I'm off for Kirkburn by the night express. Here's wishing luck,' +and the old sinner finished the brandy. + +'May I call a cab for you--it still rains?' + +'No, no, I'll travel,' by which the economical peer meant that he would +walk. + +He then shook Merton by the hand, and hobbled downstairs attended by his +adviser. + +'Did Mr. Logan call?' Merton asked the office boy when the marquis had +trotted off. + +'Yes, sir; he said you would find him at the club.' + +'Call a hansom,' said Merton, 'and put up the notice, "out."' He drove +to the club, where he found Logan ordering luncheon. + +'Hullo, shall we lunch together?' Logan asked. + +'Not yet: I want to speak to you.' + +'Nothing gone wrong? Why did you shut me out of the office?' + +'Where can we talk without being disturbed?' + +'Try the smoking-room on the top storey,' said Logan, 'Nobody will have +climbed so high so early.' + +They made the ascent, and found the room vacant: the windows looked out +over swirling smoke and trees tossing in a wind of early spring. + +'Quiet enough,' said Logan, taking an arm-chair. 'Now out with it! You +make me quite nervous.' + +'A client has come with what looks a promising piece of business. We are +to disentangle--' + +'A royal duke?' + +'No. _You_!' + +'A practical joke,' said Logan. 'Somebody pulling your leg, as people +say, a most idiotic way of speaking. What sort of client was he, or she? +We'll be even with them.' + +'The client's card is here,' said Merton, and he handed to Logan that of +the Marquis of Restalrig. + +'You never saw him before; are you sure it was the man?' asked Logan, +staggered in his scepticism. + +'A very good imitation. Dressed like a farmer at a funeral. Talked like +all the kailyards. Snuffed, and asked for brandy, and went and came, +walking, in this weather.' + +'By Jove, it is my venerated cousin. And he had heard about me and Miss ---' + +'He was quite well informed.' + +Logan looked very grave. He rose and stared out of the window into the +mist. Then he came back, and stood beside Merton's chair. He spoke in a +low voice: + +'This can only mean one thing.' + +'Only that one thing,' said Merton, dropping his own voice. + +'What did you say to him?' + +'I told him that his best plan, as the head of the house, was to approach +you himself.' + +'And he said?' + +'That it was of no use, and that I do not know the Logans.' + +'But you do?' + +'I think so.' + +'You think right. No, not for all his lands and mines I won't.' + +'Not for the name?' + +'Not for the kingdoms of the earth,' said Logan. + +'It is a great refusal.' + +'I have really no temptation to accept,' said Logan. 'I am not built +that way. So what next? If the old boy could only see her--' + +'I doubt if that would do any good, though, of course, if I were you I +should think so. He goes north to-night. You can't take the lady to +Kirkburn. And you can't write to him.' + +'Of course not,' said Logan; 'of course it would be all up if he knew +that I know.' + +'There is this to be said--it is not a very pleasant view to take--he +can't live long. He came to see some London specialist--it is his heart, +I think--' + +'_His_ heart! + + How Fortune aristophanises + And how severe the fun of Fate!' + +quoted Logan. + +'The odd thing is,' said Merton, 'that I do believe he has a heart. I +rather like him. At all events, I think, from what I saw, that a sudden +start might set him off at any moment, or an unusual exertion. And he +may go off before I tell him that I can do nothing with you--' + +'Oh, hang that,' said Logan, 'you make me feel like a beastly assassin!' + +'I only want you to understand how the land lies.' Merton dropped his +voice again, 'He has made a will leaving you everything.' + +'Poor old cock! Look here, I believe I had better write, and say that +I'm awfully touched and obliged, but that I can't come into his views, or +break my word, and then, you know, he can just make another will. It +would be a swindle to let him die, and come into his property, and then +go dead against his wishes.' + +'But it would be all right to give me away, I suppose, and let him +understand that I had violated professional confidence?' + +'Only with a member of the firm. That is no violation.' + +'But then I should have told him that you _were_ a member of the firm.' + +'I'm afraid you should.' + +'Logan, you have the ideas of a schoolboy. I _had_ to be certain as to +how you would take it, though, of course, I had a very good guess. And +as to what you say about the chances of his dying and leaving everything +where he would not have left it if he had been sure you would act against +his wishes--I believe you are wrong. What he really cares about is "the +name." His ghost will put up with your disobedience if the name keeps +its old place. Do you see?' + +'Perhaps you are right,' said Logan. + +'Anyhow, there is no such pressing hurry. One _may_ bring him round with +time. A curious old survival! I did not understand all that he said. +There was something about having been thrice at kirk and market since he +made his will; and something about not having smelled appleringie for +forty years. What is appleringie?' + +Logan laughed. + +'It is a sacred Presbyterian herb. The people keep it in their Bibles +and it perfumes the churches. But look here--' + +He was interrupted by the entrance of a page, who handed to him a letter. +Logan read it and laughed. 'I knew it; they are sharp!' he said, and +handed the letter to Merton. It was from a famous, or infamous, money- +lender, offering princely accommodation on terms which Mr. Logan would +find easy and reasonable. + +'They have nosed the appleringie, you see,' he said. + +'But I don't see,' said Merton. + +'Why the hounds have heard that the old nobleman has been thrice to kirk +lately. And as he had not been there for forty years, they have guessed +that he has been making his will. Scots law has, or used to have, +something in it about going thrice to kirk and market after making a +will--disponing they call it--as a proof of bodily and mental soundness. +So they have spotted the marquis's pious motives for kirk-going, and +guessed that I am his heir. I say--' Logan began to laugh wildly. + +'What do you say?' asked Merton, but Logan went on hooting. + +'I say,' he repeated, 'it must never be known that the old lord came to +consult us,' and here he was again convulsed. + +'Of course not,' said Merton. 'But where is the joke?' + +'Why, don't you see--oh, it is too good--he has taken every kind of +precaution to establish his sanity when he made his will.' + +'He told me that he had got expert evidence,' said Merton. + +'And then he comes and consults US!' said Logan, with a crow of laughter. +'If any fellow wants to break the will on the score of insanity, and +knows, knows he came to us, a jury, when they find he consulted us, will +jolly well upset the cart.' Merton was hurt. + +'Logan,' he said, 'it is you who ought to be in an asylum, an Asylum for +Incurable Children. Don't you see that he made the will long _before_ he +took the very natural and proper step of consulting Messrs. Gray and +Graham?' + +'Let us pray that, if there is a suit, it won't come before a Scotch +jury,' said Logan. 'Anyhow, nobody knows that he came except you and +me.' + +'And the office boy,' said Merton. + +'Oh, we'll square the office boy,' said Logan. 'Let's lunch!' + +They lunched, and Logan, as was natural, though Merton urged him to +abstain, hung about the doors of Madame Claudine's emporium at the hour +when the young ladies returned to their homes. He walked home with Miss +Markham. He told her about his chances, and his views, and no doubt she +did not think him a person of schoolboy ideas, but a Bayard. + +Two days passed, and in the afternoon of the third a telegram arrived for +Logan from Kirkburn. + +'_Come at once_, _Marquis very ill. Dr. Douglas_, _Kirkburn_.' + +There was no express train North till 8.45 in the evening. Merton dined +with Logan at King's Cross, and saw him off. He would reach his cousin's +house at about six in the morning if the train kept time. + +About nine o'clock on the morning following Logan's arrival at Kirkburn +Merton was awakened: the servant handed to him a telegram. + +'_Come instantly. Highly important. Logan_, _Kirkburn_.' + +Merton dressed himself more rapidly than he had ever done, and caught the +train leaving King's Cross at 10 a.m. + + + +II. The Emu's Feathers + + +The landscape through which Merton passed on his northward way to +Kirkburn, whither Logan had summoned him, was blank with snow. The snow +was not more than a couple of inches deep where it had not drifted, and, +as frost had set in, it was not likely to deepen. There was no fear of +being snowed up. + +Merton naturally passed a good deal of his time in wondering what had +occurred at Kirkburn, and why Logan needed his presence. 'The poor old +gentleman has passed away suddenly, I suppose,' he reflected, 'and Logan +may think that I know where he has deposited his will. It is in some +place that the marquis called "the hidie hole," and that, from his +vagrant remarks, appears to be a secret chamber, as his ancestor meant to +keep James VI. there. I wish he had cut the throat of that prince, a bad +fellow. But, of course, I don't know where the chamber is: probably some +of the people about the place know, or the lawyer who made the will.' + +However freely Merton's consciousness might play round the problem, he +could get no nearer to its solution. At Berwick he had to leave the +express, and take a local train. In the station, not a nice station, he +was accosted by a stranger, who asked if he was Mr. Merton? The +stranger, a wholesome, red-faced, black-haired man, on being answered in +the affirmative, introduced himself as Dr. Douglas, of Kirkburn. 'You +telegraphed to my friend Logan the news of the marquis's illness,' said +Merton. 'I fear you have no better news to give me.' + +Dr. Douglas shook his head. + +A curious little crowd was watching the pair from a short distance. There +was an air of solemnity about the people, which was not wholly due to the +chill grey late afternoon, and the melancholy sea. + +'We have an hour to wait, Mr. Merton, before the local train starts, and +afterwards there is a bit of a drive. It is cold, we would be as well in +the inn as here.' + +The doctor beat his gloved hands together to restore the circulation. + +Merton saw that the doctor wished to be with him in private, and the two +walked down into the town, where they got a comfortable room, the doctor +ordering boiling water and the other elements of what he called 'a +cheerer.' When the cups which cheer had been brought, and the men were +alone, the doctor said: + +'It is as you suppose, Mr. Merton, but worse.' + +'Great heaven, no accident has happened to Logan?' asked Merton. + +'No, sir, and he would have met you himself at Berwick, but he is engaged +in making inquiries and taking precautions at Kirkburn.' + +'You do not mean that there is any reason to suspect foul play? The +marquis, I know, was in bad health. You do not suspect--murder?' + +'No, sir, but--the marquis is gone.' + +'I _know_ he is gone, your telegram and what I observed of his health led +me to fear the worst.' + +'But his body is gone--vanished.' + +'You suppose that it has been stolen (you know the American and other +cases of the same kind) for the purpose of extracting money from the +heir?' + +'That is the obvious view, whoever the heir may be. So far, no will has +been found,' the doctor added some sugar to his cheerer, and some whisky +to correct the sugar. 'The neighbourhood is very much excited. Mr. +Logan has telegraphed to London for detectives.' + +Merton reflected in silence. + +'The obvious view is not always the correct one,' he said. 'The marquis +was, at least I thought that he was, a very eccentric person.' + +'No doubt about _that_,' said the doctor. + +'Very well. He had reasons, such reasons as might occur to a mind like +his, for wanting to test the character and conduct of Mr. Logan, his only +living kinsman. What I am going to say will seem absurd to you, but--the +marquis spoke to me of his malady as a kind of "dwawming," I did not know +what he meant, at the time, but yesterday I consulted the glossary of a +Scotch novel: to _dwawm_, I think, is to lose consciousness?' + +The doctor nodded. + +'Now you have read,' said Merton, 'the case published by Dr. Cheyne, of a +gentleman, Colonel Townsend, who could voluntarily produce a state of +"dwawm" which was not then to be distinguished from death?' + +'I have read it in the notes to Aytoun's _Scottish Cavaliers_,' said the +doctor. + +'Now, then, suppose that the marquis, waking out of such a state, whether +voluntarily induced (which is very improbable) or not, thought fit to +withdraw himself, for the purpose of secretly watching, from some +retreat, the behaviour of his heir, if he has made Mr. Logan his heir? Is +that hypothesis absolutely out of keeping with his curious character?' + +'No. It's crazy enough, if you will excuse me, but, for these last few +weeks, at any rate, I would have swithered about signing a fresh +certificate to the marquis's sanity.' + +'You did, perhaps, sign one when he made his will, as he told me?' + +'I, and Dr. Gourlay, and Professor Grant,' the doctor named two +celebrated Edinburgh specialists. 'But just of late I would not be so +certain.' + +'Then my theory need not necessarily be wrong?' + +'It can't but be wrong. First, I saw the man dead.' + +'Absolute tests of death are hardly to be procured, of course you know +that better than I do,' said Merton. + +'Yes, but I am positive, or as positive as one can be, in the +circumstances. However, that is not what I stand on. _There was a +witness who saw the marquis go_.' + +'Go--how did he go?' + +'He disappeared.' + +'The body disappeared?' + +'It did, but you had better hear the witness's own account; I don't think +a second-hand story will convince you, especially as you have a theory.' + +'Was the witness a man or a woman?' + +'A woman,' said the doctor. + +'Oh!' said Merton. + +'I know what you mean,' said the doctor. 'You think, it suits your +theory, that the marquis came to himself and--' + +'And squared the female watcher,' interrupted Merton; 'she would assist +him in his crazy stratagem.' + +'Mr. Merton, you've read ower many novels,' said the doctor, lapsing into +the vernacular. 'Well, your notion is not unthinkable, nor pheesically +impossible. She's a queer one, Jean Bower, that waked the corpse, sure +enough. However, you'll soon be on the spot, and can examine the case +for yourself. Mr. Logan has no idea but that the body was stolen for +purposes of blackmail.' He looked at his watch. 'We must be going to +catch the train, if she's anything like punctual.' + +The pair walked in silence to the station, were again watched curiously +by the public (who appeared to treat the station as a club), and after +three-quarters of an hour of slow motion and stoppages, arrived at their +destination, Drem. + +The doctor's own man with a dog-cart was in waiting. + +'The marquis had neither machine nor horse,' the doctor explained. + +Through the bleak late twilight they were driven, past two or three +squalid mining villages, along a road where the ruts showed black as coal +through the freezing snow. Out of one village, the lights twinkling in +the windows, they turned up a steep road, which, after a couple of +hundred yards, brought them to the old stone gate posts, surmounted by +heraldic animals. + +'The late marquis sold the worked-iron gates to a dealer,' said the +doctor. + +At the avenue gates, so steep was the ascent, both men got out and +walked. + +'You see the pits come up close to the house,' said the doctor, as they +reached the crest. He pointed to some tall chimneys on the eastern +slope, which sank quite gradually to the neighbouring German Ocean, but +ended in an abrupt rocky cliff. + +'Is that a fishing village in the cleft of the cliffs? I think I see a +red roof,' said Merton. + +'Ay, that's Strutherwick, a fishing village,' replied the doctor. + +'A very easy place, on your theory, for an escape with the body by boat,' +said Merton. + +'Ay, that is just it,' acquiesced the doctor. + +'But,' asked Merton, as they reached the level, and saw the old keep +black in front of them, 'what is that rope stretched about the lawn for? +It seems to go all round the house, and there are watchers.' Dark +figures with lanterns were visible at intervals, as Merton peered into +the gathering gloom. The watchers paced to and fro like sentinels. + +The door of the house opened, and a man's figure stood out against the +lamp light within. + +'Is that you, Merton?' came Logan's voice from the doorway. + +Merton answered; and the doctor remarked, 'Mr. Logan will tell you what +the rope's for.' + +The friends shook hands; the doctor, having deposited Merton's baggage, +pleaded an engagement, and said 'Good-bye,' among the thanks of Logan. An +old man, a kind of silent Caleb Balderstone, carried Merton's light +luggage up a black turnpike stair. + +'I've put you in the turret; it is the least dilapidated room,' said +Logan. 'Now, come in here.' + +He led the way into a hall on the ground-floor. A great fire in the +ancient hearth, with its heavy heraldically carved stone chimney-piece, +lit up the desolation of the chamber. + +'Sit down and warm yourself,' said Logan, pushing forward a ponderous +oaken chair, with a high back and short arms. + +'I know a good deal,' said Merton, his curiosity hurrying him to the +point; 'but first, Logan, what is the rope on the stakes driven in round +the house for?' + +'That was my first precaution,' said Logan. 'I heard of the--of what has +happened--about four in the morning, and I instantly knocked in the +stakes--hard work with the frozen ground--and drew the rope along, to +isolate the snow about the house. When I had done that, I searched the +snow for footmarks.' + +'When had the snow begun to fall?' + +'About midnight. I turned out then to look at the night before going to +bed.' + +'And there was nothing wrong then?' + +'He lay on his bed in the laird's chamber. I had just left it. I left +him with the watcher of the dead. There was a plate of salt on his +breast. The housekeeper, Mrs. Bower, keeps up the old ways. Candles +were burning all round the bed. A fearful waste he would have thought +it, poor old man. The devils! If I could get on their track!' said +Logan, clenching his fist. + +'You have found no tracks, then?' + +'None. When I examined the snow there was not a footmark on the roads to +the back door or the front--not a footmark on the whole area.' + +'Then the removal of the body from the bedroom was done from within. +Probably the body is still in the house.' + +'Certainly it has been taken out by no known exit, if it _has_ been taken +out, as I believe. I at once arranged relays of sentinels--men from the +coal-pits. But the body is gone; I am certain of it. A fishing-boat +went out from the village, Strutherwick, before the dawn. It came into +the little harbour after midnight--some night-wandering lover saw it +enter--and it must have sailed again before dawn.' + +'Did you examine the snow near the harbour?' + +'I could not be everywhere at once, and I was single-handed; but I sent +down the old serving-man, John Bower. He is stupid enough, but I gave +him a note to any fisherman he might meet. Of course these people are +not detectives.' + +'And was there any result?' + +'Yes; an odd one. But it confirms the obvious theory of body-snatching. +Of course, fishers are early risers, and they went trampling about +confusedly. But they did find curious tracks. We have isolated some of +them, and even managed to carry off a couple. We dug round them, and +lifted them. A neighbouring laird, Mr. Maitland, lent his ice-house for +storing these, and I had one laid down on the north side of this house to +show you, if the frost held. No ice-house or refrigerator _here_, of +course.' + +'Let me see it now.' + +Logan took a lighted candle--the night was frosty, without a wind--and +led Merton out under the black, ivy-clad walls. Merton threw his +greatcoat on the snow and knelt on it, peering at the object. He saw a +large flat clod of snow and earth. On its surface was the faint impress +of a long oval, longer than the human foot; feathery marks running in +both directions from the centre could be descried. Looking closer, +Merton detected here and there a tiny feather and a flock or two of down +adhering to the frozen mass. + +'May I remove some of these feathery things?' Merton asked. + +'Certainly. But why?' + +'We can't carry the clod indoors, it would melt; and it _may_ melt if the +weather changes; and by bad luck there may be no feathers or down +adhering to the other clods--those in the laird's ice-house.' + +'You think you have a clue?' + +'I think,' said Merton, 'that these are emu's feathers; but, whether they +are or not, they look like a clue. Still, I _think_ they are emu's +feathers.' + +'Why? The emu is not an indigenous bird.' + +As he spoke, an idea--several ideas--flashed on Merton. He wished that +he had held his peace. He put the little shreds into his pocket-book, +rose, and donned his greatcoat. 'How cold it is!' he said. 'Logan, +would you mind very much if I said no more just now about the feathers? I +really have a notion--which may be a good one, or may be a silly one--and, +absurd as it appears, you will seriously oblige me by letting me keep my +own counsel.' + +'It is damned awkward,' said Logan testily. + +'Ah, old boy, but remember that "damned awkward" is a damned awkward +expression.' + +'You are right,' said Logan heartily; 'but I rose very early, I'm very +tired, I'm rather savage. Let's go in and dine.' + +'All right,' said Merton. + +'I don't think,' said Logan, as they were entering the house, 'that I +need keep these miners on sentry go any longer. The bird--the body, I +mean--has flown. Whoever the fellows were that made these tracks, and +however they got into and out of the house, they have carried the body +away. I'll pay the watchers and dismiss them.' + +'All right,' said Merton. 'I won't dress. I must return to town by the +night train. No time to be lost.' + +'No train to be caught,' said Logan, 'unless you drive or walk to Berwick +from here--which you can't. You can't walk to Dunbar, to catch the +10.20, and I have nothing that you can drive.' + +'Can I send a telegram to town?' + +'It is four miles to the nearest telegraph station, but I dare say one of +the sentinels would walk there for a consideration.' + +'No use,' said Merton. 'I should need to wire in a cipher, when I come +to think of it, and cipher I have none. I must go as early as I can to- +morrow. Let us consult Bradshaw.' + +They entered the house. Merton had a Bradshaw in his dressing-bag. They +found that he could catch a train at 10.49 A.M., and be in London about 9 +P.M. + +'How are you to get to the station?' asked Logan. 'I'll tell you how,' +he went on. 'I'll send a note to the inn at the place, and order a trap +to be here at ten. That will give you lots of time. It is about four +miles.' + +'Thank you,' said Merton; 'I see no better way.' And while Logan went to +pay and dismiss the sentries and send a messenger, a grandson of the old +butler with the note to the innkeeper, Merton toiled up the narrow +turnpike stair to the turret chamber. A fire had been burning all day, +and in firelight almost any room looks tolerable. There was a small four- +poster bed, with slender columns, a black old wardrobe, and a couple of +chairs, one of the queer antiquated little dressing-tables, with many +drawers, and boxes, and a tiny basin, and there was a perfectly new tub, +which Logan had probably managed to obtain in the course of the day. +Merton's evening clothes were neatly laid out, the shutters were closed, +curtains there were none; in fact, he had been in much worse quarters. + +As he dressed he mused. 'Cursed spite,' thought he, 'that ever I was +born to be an amateur detective! And cursed be my confounded thirst for +general information! Why did I ever know what _Kurdaitcha_ and +_Interlinia_ mean? If I turn out to be right, oh, shade of Sherlock +Holmes, what a pretty kettle of fish there will be! Suppose I drop the +whole affair! But I've been ass enough to let Logan know that I have an +idea. Well, we shall see how matters shape themselves. Sufficient for +the day is the evil thereof.' + +Merton descended the turnpike stair, holding on to the rope provided for +that purpose in old Scotch houses. He found Logan standing by the fire +in the hall. They were waited on by the old man, Bower. By tacit +consent they spoke, while he was present, of anything but the subject +that occupied their minds. They had quite an edible +dinner--cock-a-leekie, brandered haddocks, and a pair of roasted fowls, +with a mysterious sweet which was called a 'Hattit Kit.' + +'It is an historical dish in this house,' said Logan. 'A favourite with +our ancestor, the conspirator.' + +The wine was old and good, having been laid down before the time of the +late marquis. + +'In the circumstances, Logan,' said Merton, when the old serving man was +gone, 'you have done me very well.' + +'Thanks to Mrs. Bower, our butler's wife,' said Logan. 'She is a truly +remarkable woman. She and her husband, they are cousins, are members of +an ancient family, our hereditary retainers. One of them, Laird Bower, +was our old conspirator's go-between in the plot to kidnap the king, of +which you have heard so much. Though he was an aged and ignorant man, he +kept the secret so well that our ancestor was never even suspected, till +his letters came to light after his death, and after Laird Bower's death +too, luckily for both of them. So you see we can depend on it that this +pair of domestics, and their family, were not concerned in this new +abomination; so far, the robbery was not from within.' + +'I am glad to hear that,' said Merton. 'I had invented a theory, too +stupid to repeat, and entirely demolished by the footmarks in the snow, a +theory which hypothetically implicated your old housekeeper. To be sure +it did not throw any doubt on her loyalty to the house, quite the +reverse.' + +'What was your theory?' + +'Oh, too silly for words; that the marquis had been only in a trance, had +come to himself when alone with the old lady, who, the doctor said, was +watching in the room, and had stolen away, to see how you would conduct +yourself. Childish hypothesis! The obvious one, body-snatching, is +correct. This is very good port.' + +'If things had been as you thought possible, Jean Bower was not the woman +to balk the marquis,' said Logan. 'But you must see her and hear her +tell her own story.' + +'Gladly,' said Merton, 'but first tell me yours.' + +'When I arrived I found the poor old gentleman unconscious. Dr. Douglas +was in attendance. About noon he pronounced life extinct. Mrs. Bower +watched, or "waked" the corpse. I left her with it about midnight, as I +told you; about four in the morning she aroused me with the news that the +body had vanished. What I did after that you know. Now you had better +hear the story from herself.' + +Logan rang a handbell, there were no other bells in the keep, and asked +the old serving-man, when he came, to send in Mrs. Bower. + +She entered, a very aged woman, dressed in deep mourning. She was tall, +her hair of an absolutely pure white, her aquiline face was drawn, her +cheeks hollow, her mouth almost toothless. She made a deep courtesy, +repeating it when Logan introduced 'my friend, Mr. Merton.' + +'Mrs. Bower,' Logan said, 'Mr. Merton is my oldest friend, and the +marquis saw him in London, and consulted him on private business a few +days ago. He wishes to hear you tell what you saw the night before +last.' + +'Maybe, as the gentleman is English, he'll hardly understand me, my lord. +I have a landward tongue,' said Mrs. Bower. + +'I can interpret if Mr. Merton is puzzled, Mrs. Bower, but I think he +will understand better if we go to the laird's chamber.' + +Logan took two lighted candles, handing two to Merton, and the old woman +led them upstairs to a room which occupied the whole front of the ancient +'peel,' or square tower, round which the rest of the house was built. The +room was nearly bare of furniture, except for an old chair or two, a +bureau, and a great old bed of state, facing the narrow deep window, and +standing on a kind of dais, or platform of three steps. The heavy old +green curtains were drawn all round it. Mrs. Bower opened them at the +front and sides. At the back against the wall the curtains, embroidered +with the arms of Restalrig, remained closed. + +'I sat here all the night,' said Mrs. Bower, 'watching the corp that my +hands had streikit. The candles were burning a' about him, the saut lay +on his breast, only aefold o' linen covered him. My back was to the +window, my face to his feet. I was crooning the auld dirgie; if it does +nae guid, it does nae harm.' She recited in a monotone: + + 'When thou frae here away art past-- + Every nicht and all-- + To Whinny-muir thou comest at last, + And Christ receive thy saul. + + 'If ever thou gavest hosen and shoon-- + Every nicht and all-- + Sit thee down and put them on, + And Christ receive thy saul + +'Alas, he never gave nane, puir man,' said the woman with a sob. + +At this moment the door of the chamber slowly opened. The woman turned +and gazed at it, frowning, her lips wide apart. + +Logan went to the door, looked into the passage, closed the door and +locked it; the key had to be turned twice, in the old fashion, and worked +with a creaking jar. + +'I had crooned thae last words, + + And Christ receive thy saul, + +when the door opened, as ye saw it did the now. It is weel kenned that a +corp canna lie still in a room with the door hafflins open. I rose to +lock it, the catch is crazy. I was backing to the door, with my face to +the feet o' the corp. I saw them move backwards, slow they moved, and my +heart stood still in my breist. Then I saw'--here she stepped to the +head of the bed and drew apart the curtains, which opened in the +middle--'I saw the curtain was open, and naething but blackness ahint it. +Ye see, my Lord, ahint the bed-heid is the entrance o' the auld secret +passage. The stanes hae lang syne fallen in, and closed it, but my Lord +never would have the hole wa'ed up. "There's nae draught, Jean, or nane +to mention, and I never was wastefu' in needless repairs," he aye said. +Weel, when I looked that way, his face, down to the chafts, was within +the blackness, and aye draw, drawing further ben. Then, I shame to say +it, a sair dwawm cam ower me, I gae a bit chokit cry, and I kenned nae +mair till I cam to mysel, a' the candles were out, and the chamber was +mirk and lown. I heard the skirl o' a passing train, and I crap to the +bed, and the skirl kind o' reminded me o' living folk, and I felt a' ower +the bed wi' my hands. There was nae corp. Ye ken that the Enemy has +power, when a corp lies in a room, and the door is hafflins closed. +Whiles they sit up, and grin and yammer. I hae kenned that. Weel, how +long I had lain in the dwawm I canna say. The train that skirled maun +hae been a coal train that rins by about half-past three in the morning. +There was a styme o' licht that streeled in at the open door, frae a +candle your lordship set on a table in the lobby; the auld lord would hae +nae lichts in the house after the ten hours. Sae I got to the door, and +grippit to the candle, and flew off to your lordship's room, and the rest +ye ken.' + +'Thank you, very much, Mrs. Bower,' said Logan. 'You quite understand, +Merton, don't you?' + +'I thoroughly understand your story, Mrs. Bower,' said Merton. + +'We need not keep you any longer, Mrs. Bower,' said Logan. 'Nobody need +sit up for us; you must be terribly fatigued.' + +'You wunna forget to rake out the ha' fire, my lord?' said the old lady, +'I wush your Lordship a sound sleep, and you, sir,' so she curtsied and +went, Logan unlocking the door. + +'And I was in London this morning!' said Merton, drawing a long breath. + +'You're over Tweed, now, old man,' answered Logan, with patriotic +satisfaction. + +'Don't go yet,' said Merton. 'You examined the carpet of the room; no +traces there of these odd muffled foot-coverings you found in the snow?' + +'Not a trace of any kind. The salt was spilt, some of it lay on the +floor. The plate was not broken.' + +'If they came in, it would be barefoot,' said Merton. + +'Of course the police left traces of official boots,' said Logan. 'Where +are they now--the policemen, I mean?' + +'Two are to sleep in the kitchen.' + +'They found out nothing?' + +'Of course not.' + +'Let me look at the hole in the wall.' Merton climbed on to the bed and +entered the hole. It was about six feet long by four wide. Stones had +fallen in, at the back, and had closed the passage in a rough way, indeed +what extent of the floor of the passage existed was huddled with stones. +Merton examined the sides of the passage, which were mere rubble. + +'Have you looked at the floor beneath those fallen stones?' Merton asked. + +'No, by Jove, I never thought of that,' said Logan. + +'How could they have been stirred without the old woman hearing the +noise?' + +'How do you know they were there before the marquis's death?' asked +Merton, adding, 'this hole was not swept and dusted regularly. Either +the entrance is beneath me, or--"the Enemy had power"--as Mrs. Bower +says.' + +'You must be right,' said Logan. 'I'll have the stones removed +to-morrow. The thing is clear. The passage leads to somewhere outside +of the house. There's an abandoned coal mine hard by, on the east. +Nothing can be simpler.' + +'When once you see it,' said Merton. + +'Come and have a whisky and soda,' said Logan. + + + +III. A Romance of Bradshaw + + +Merton slept very well in the turret room. He was aroused early by +noises which he interpreted as caused by the arrival of the London +detectives. But he only turned round, like the sluggard, and slumbered +till Logan aroused him at eight o'clock. He descended about a quarter to +nine, breakfast was at nine, and he found Logan looking much disturbed. + +'They don't waste time,' said Logan, handing to Merton a letter in an +opened envelope. Logan's hand trembled. + +'Typewritten address, London postmark,' said Merton. 'To Robert Logan, +Esq., at Kirkburn Keep, Drem, Scotland.' + +Merton read the letter aloud; there was no date of place, but there were +the words: + + 'March 6, 2.45 P.M. + 'SIR,--Perhaps I ought to say my Lord--' + +'What a fool the fellow is,' said Merton. + +'Why?' + +'Shows he is an educated man.' + + 'You may obtain news as to the mortal remains of your kinsman, the + late Marquis of Restalrig, and as to his Will, by walking in the + Burlington Arcade on March 11, between the hours of three and half- + past three p.m. You must be attired in full mourning costume, + carrying a glove in your left hand, and a black cane, with a silver + top, in your right. A lady will drop her purse beside you. You will + accost her.' + +Here the letter, which was typewritten, ended. + +'You won't?' said Merton. 'Never meet a black-mailer halfway.' + +'I wouldn't,' said Logan. 'But look here!' + +He gave Merton another letter, in outward respect exactly similar to the +first, except that the figure 2 was typewritten in the left corner. The +letter ran thus: + + 'March 6, 4.25 p.m. + + 'SIR,--I regret to have to trouble you with a second communication, + but my former letter was posted before a change occurred in the + circumstances. You will be pleased to hear that I have no longer the + affliction of speaking of your noble kinsman as "_the late_ Marquis of + Restalrig."' + +'Oh my prophetic soul!' said Merton, 'I guessed at first that he was not +dead after all! Only catalepsy.' He went on reading: 'His Lordship +recovered consciousness in circumstances which I shall not pain you by +describing. He is now doing as well as can be expected, and may have +several years of useful life before him. I need not point out to you +that the conditions of the negotiation are now greatly altered. On the +one hand, my partners and myself may seem to occupy the position of +players who work a double ruff at whist. We are open to the marquis's +offers for release, and to yours for his eternal absence from the scene +of life and enjoyment. But it is by no means impossible that you may +have scruples about outbidding your kinsman, especially as, if you did, +you would, by the very fact, become subject to perpetual "black-mailing" +at our hands. I speak plainly, as one man of the world to another. It +is also a drawback to our position that you could attain your ends +without blame or scandal (your ends being, of course, if the law so +determines, immediate succession to the property of the marquis), by +merely pushing us, with the aid of the police, to a fatal extreme. We +are, therefore reluctantly obliged to conclude that we cannot put the +marquis's life up to auction between you and him, as my partners, in the +first flush of triumph, had conceived. But any movement on your side +against us will be met in such a way that the consequences, both to +yourself and your kinsman, will prove to the last degree prejudicial. For +the rest, the arrangements specified in my earlier note of this instant +(dated 2.45 P. M.) remain in force.' + +Merton returned the letter to Logan. Their faces were almost equally +blank. + +'Let me think!' said Merton. He turned, and walked to the window. Logan +re-read the letters and waited. Presently Merton came back to the +fireside. 'You see, after all, this resolves itself into the ordinary +dilemma of brigandage. We do not want to pay ransom, enormous ransom +probably, if we can rescue the marquis, and destroy the gang. But the +marquis himself--' + +'Oh, _he_ would never offer terms that they would accept,' said Logan, +with conviction. 'But I would stick at no ransom, of course.' + +'But suppose that I see a way of defeating the scoundrels, would you let +me risk it?' + +'If you neither imperil yourself nor him too much.' + +'Never mind me, I like it. And, as for him, they will be very loth to +destroy their winning card.' + +'You'll be cautious?' + +'Naturally, but, as this place and the stations are sure to be watched, +as the trains are slow, local, and inconvenient, and as, thanks to the +economy of the marquis, you have no horses, it will be horribly difficult +for me to leave the house and get to London and to work without their +spotting me. It is absolutely essential to my scheme that I should not +be known to be in town, and that I should be supposed to be here. I'll +think it out. In the meantime we must do what we can to throw dust in +the eyes of the enemy. Wire an identical advertisement to all the London +papers; I'll write it.' + +Merton went to a table on which lay some writing materials, and wrote:-- + + 'BURLINGTON ARCADE. SILVER-TOPPED EBONY STICK. Any offer made by the + other party will be doubled on receipt of that consignment uninjured. + Will meet the lady. Traps shall be kept here till after the date you + mention. CHURCH BROOK.' + +'Now,' said Merton, 'he will see that Church Brook is Kirkburn, and that +you will be liberal. And he will understand that the detectives are not +to return to London. You did not show them the letters?' + +'Of course not till you saw them, and I won't.' + +'And, if nothing can be done before the eleventh, why you must promenade +in the Burlington Arcade.' + +'You see one weak point in your offers, don't you?' + +'Which?' + +'Why, suppose they do release the marquis, how am I to get the money to +pay double his offer? He won't stump up and recoup me.' + +Merton laughed. 'We must risk it,' he said. 'And, in the changed +circumstances, the tin might be raised on a post-obit. But _he_ won't +bid high; you may double safely enough.' + +On considering these ideas Logan looked relieved. 'Now,' he asked, +'about your plan; is it following the emu's feather?' + +Merton nodded. 'But I must do it alone. The detectives must stay here. +Now if I leave, dressed as I am, by the 10.49, I'll be tracked all the +way. Is there anybody in the country whom you can absolutely trust?' + +'Yes, there's Bower, the gardener, the son of these two feudal survivals, +and there is _his_ son.' + +'What is young Bower?' + +'A miner in the collieries; the mine is near the house.' + +'Is he about my size? Have you seen him?' + +'I saw him last night; he was one of the watchers.' + +'Is he near my size?' + +'A trifle broader, otherwise near enough.' + +'What luck!' said Merton, adding, 'well, I can't start by the 10.49. I'm +ill. I'm in bed. Order my breakfast in bed, send Mrs. Bower, and come +up with her yourself.' + +Merton rushed up the turnpike stair; in two minutes he was undressed, and +between the sheets. There he lay, reading Bradshaw, pages 670, 671. + +Presently there was a knock at the door, and Logan entered, followed by +Mrs. Bower with the breakfast tray. + +Merton addressed her at once. + +'Mrs. Bower, we know that we can trust you absolutely.' + +'To the death, sir--me and mine.' + +'Well, I am not ill, but people must think I am ill. Is your grandson on +the night shift or the day shift?' + +'Laird is on the day shift, sir.' + +'When does he leave his work?' + +'About six, sir.' + +'That is good. As soon as he appears--' + +'I'll wait for him at the pit's mouth, sir.' + +'Thank you. You will take him to his house; he lives with your son?' + +'Yes, sir, with his father.' + +'Make him change his working clothes--but he need not wash his face +much--and bring him here. Mr. Logan, I mean Lord Fastcastle, will want +him. Now, Mrs. Bower--you see I trust you absolutely--what he is wanted +for is _this_. I shall dress in your grandson's clothes, I shall blacken +my hands and face slightly, and I must get to Drem. Have I time to reach +the station by ten minutes past seven?' + +'By fast walking, sir.' + +'Mr. Logan and your grandson--your grandson in my clothes--will walk +later to your son's house, as they find a chance, unobserved, say about +eleven at night. They will stay there for some time. Then they will be +joined by some of the police, who will accompany Mr. Logan home again. +Your grandson will go to his work as usual in the morning. That is all. +You quite understand? You have nothing to do but to bring your grandson +here, dressed as I said, as soon as he leaves his work. Oh, wait a +moment! Is your grandson a teetotaller?' + +'He's like the other lads, sir.' + +'All the better. Does he smoke?' + +'Yes, sir.' + +'Then pray bring me a pipe of his and some of his tobacco. And, ah yes, +does he possess such a thing as an old greatcoat?' + +'His auld ane's sair worn, sir.' + +'Never mind, he had better walk up in it. He has a better one?' + +'Yes, sir.' + +'I think that is all,' said Merton. 'You understand, Mrs. Bower, that I +am going away dressed as your grandson, while your grandson, dressed as +myself, returns to his house to-night, and to work to-morrow. But it is +not to be known that I _have_ gone away. I am to be supposed ill in bed +here for a day or two. You will bring my meals into the room at the +usual hours, and Logan--of course you can trust Dr. Douglas?' + +'I do.' + +'Then he had better be summoned to my sick bed here to-morrow. I may be +so ill that he will have to call twice. That will keep up the belief +that I am here.' + +'Good idea,' said Logan, as the old woman left the room. 'What had I +better do now?' + +'Oh, send your telegrams--the advertisements--to the London papers. They +can go by the trap you ordered for me, that I am too ill to go in. Then +you will have to interview the detectives, take them into the laird's +chamber, and, if they start my theory about the secret entrance being +under the fallen stones, let them work away at removing them. If they +don't start it, put them up to it; anything to keep them employed and +prevent them from asking questions in the villages.' + +'But, Merton, I understand your leaving in disguise; still, why go first +to Edinburgh?' + +'The trains from your station to town do not fit. You can look.' And +Merton threw Bradshaw to Logan, who caught it neatly. + +When he had satisfied himself, Logan said, 'The shops will be closed in +Edinburgh, it will be after eight when you arrive. How will you manage +about getting into decent clothes?' + +'I have my idea; but, as soon as you can get rid of the detectives, come +back here; I want you to coach me in broad Scots words and pronunciation. +I shall concoct imaginary dialogues. I say, this is great fun.' + +'Dod, man, aw 'm the lad that'll lairn ye the pronoonciation,' said +Logan, and he was going. + +'Wait,' said Merton, 'sign me a paper giving me leave to treat about the +ransom. And promise that, if I don't reappear by the eleventh, you won't +negotiate at all.' + +'Not likely I will,' said Logan. + +Merton lay in bed inventing imaginary dialogues to be rendered into Scots +as occasion served. Presently Logan brought him a little book named +_Mansie Waugh_. + +'That is our lingo here,' he said; and Merton studied the work carefully, +marking some phrases with a pencil. + +In about an hour Logan reported that the detectives were at work in the +secret passage. The lesson in the Scots of the Lothians began, +accompanied by sounds of muffled laughter. Not for two or three +centuries can the turret chamber at Kirkburn have heard so much +merriment. + +The afternoon passed in this course of instruction. Merton was a fairly +good mimic, and Logan felt at last that he could not readily be detected +for an Englishman. Six o'clock had scarcely struck when Mrs. Bower's +grandson was ushered into the bedroom. The exchange of clothes took +place, Merton dressing as the young Bower undressed. The detectives, who +had found nothing, were being entertained by Mrs. Bower at dinner. + +'I know how the trap in the secret passage is worked,' said Merton, 'but +you keep them hunting for it.' + +Had the worthy detectives been within earshot the yells of laughter +echoing in the turret as the men dressed must have suggested strange +theories to their imaginations. + +'Larks!' said Merton, as he blackened his face with coal dust. + +Dismissing young Bower, who was told to wait in the hall, Merton made his +final arrangements. 'You will communicate with me under cover to +Trevor,' he said. He took a curious mediaeval ring that he always wore +from his ringer, and tied it to a piece of string, which he hung round +his neck, tucking all under his shirt. Then he arranged his thick +comforter so as to hide the back of his head and neck (he had bitten his +nails and blackened them with coal). + +'Logan, I only want a bottle of whisky, the cork drawn and loose in the +bottle, and a few dirty Scotch one pound notes; and, oh! has Mrs. Bower a +pack of cards?' + +Having been supplied with these properties, and said farewell to Logan, +Merton stole downstairs, walked round the house, entered the kitchen by +the back door, and said to Mrs. Bower, 'Grannie, I maun be ganging.' + +'My grandson, gentlemen,' said Mrs. Bower to the detectives. Then to her +grandson, she remarked, 'Hae, there's a jeely piece for you'; and Merton, +munching a round of bread covered with jam, walked down the steep avenue. +He knew the house he was to enter, the gardener's lodge, and also that he +was to approach it by the back way, and go in at the back door. The +inmates expected him and understood the scheme; presently he went out by +the door into the village street, still munching at his round of bread. + +To such lads and lassies as hailed him in the waning light he replied +gruffly, explaining that he had 'a sair hoast,' that is, a bad cough, +from which he had observed that young Bower was suffering. He was soon +outside of the village, and walking at top speed towards the station. +Several times he paused, in shadowy corners of the hedges, and listened. +There was no sound of pursuing feet. He was not being followed, but, of +course, he might be dogged at the station. The enemy would have their +spies there: if they had them in the village his disguise had deceived +them. He ran, whenever no passer-by was in sight; through the villages +he walked, whistling 'Wull ye no come back again!' He reached the +station with three minutes to spare, took a third-class ticket, and went +on to the platform. Several people were waiting, among them four or five +rough-looking miners, probably spies. He strolled towards the end of the +platform, and when the train entered, leaped into a third-class carriage +which was nearly full. Turning at the door, he saw the rough customers +making for the same carriage. 'Come on,' cried Merton, with a slight +touch of intoxication in his voice; 'come on billies, a' freens here!' +and he cast a glance of affection behind him at the other occupants of +the carriage. The roughs pressed in. + +'I won't have it,' cried a testy old gentleman, who was economically +travelling by third-class, 'there are only three seats vacant. The rest +of the train is nearly empty. Hi, guard! station-master, hi!' + +'A' _freens_ here,' repeated Merton stolidly, taking his whisky bottle +from his greatcoat pocket. Two of the roughs had entered, but the guard +persuaded the other two that they must bestow themselves elsewhere. The +old gentleman glared at Merton, who was standing up, the cork of the +bottle between his teeth, as the train began to move. He staggered and +fell back into his seat. + + 'We are na fou, we're no _that_ fou,' + +Merton chanted, directing his speech to the old gentleman, + + 'But just a wee drap in oor 'ee!' + +'The curse of Scotland,' muttered the old gentleman, whether with +reference to alcohol or to Robert Burns, is uncertain. + +'The Curse o' Scotland,' said Merton, 'that's the nine o' diamonds. I +hae the cairts on me, maybe ye'd take a hand, sir, at Beggar ma Neebour, +or Catch the Ten? Ye needna be feared, a can pay gin I lose.' He +dragged out his cards, and a handful of silver. + +The rough customers between whom Merton was sitting began to laugh +hoarsely. The old gentleman frowned. + +'I shall change my carriage at the next station,' he said, 'and I shall +report you for gambling.' + +'A' freens!' said Merton, as if horrified by the austere reception of his +cordial advances. 'Wha's gaumlin'? We mauna play, billies, till he's +gane. An unco pernicketty auld carl, thon ane,' he remarked, _sotto +voce_. 'But there's naething in the Company's by-laws again +refraishments,' Merton added. He uncorked his bottle, made a pretence of +sucking at it, and passed it to his neighbours, the rough customers. They +imbibed with freedom. + +The carriage was very dark, the lamp 'moved like a moon in a wane,' as +Merton might have quoted in happier circumstances. The rough customers +glared at him, but his cap had a peak, and he wore his comforter high. + +'Man, ye're the kind o' lad I like,' said one of the rough customers. + +'A' freens!' said Merton, again applying himself to the bottle, and +passing it. 'Ony ither gentleman tak' a sook?' asked Merton, including +all the passengers in his hospitable glance. 'Nane o' ye dry? + + 'Oh! fill yer ain glass, + And let the jug pass, + Hoo d'ye ken but yer neighbour's dry?' + +Merton carolled. + +'Thon's no a Scotch lilt,' remarked one of the roughs. + +'A ken it's Irish,' said Merton. 'But, billie, the whusky's Scotch!' + +The train slowed and the old gentleman got out. From the platform he +stormed at Merton. + +'Ye're no an awakened character, ma freend,' answered Merton. 'Gude +nicht to ye! Gie ma love to the gude wife and the weans!' + +The train pursued her course. + +'Aw 'm saying, billie, aw 'm saying,' remarked one of the roughs, +thrusting his dirty beard into Merton's face. + +'Weel, _be_ saying,' said Merton. + +'You're no Lairdie Bower, ye ken, ye haena the neb o' him.' + +'And wha the deil said a _was_ Lairdie Bower? Aw 'm a Lanerick man. +Lairdie's at hame wi' a sair hoast,' answered Merton. + +'But ye're wearing Lairdie Bower's auld big coat.' + +'And what for no? Lairdie has anither coat, a brawer yin, and he lent me +the auld yin because the nichts is cauld, and I hae a hoast ma'sel! Div +_ye_ ken Lairdie Bower? I've been wi' his auld faither and the lasses +half the day, but speakin's awfu' dry work.' + +Here Merton repeated the bottle trick, and showed symptoms of going to +sleep, his head rolling on to the shoulder of the rough. + +'Haud up, man!' said the rough, withdrawing the support. + +'A' freens here,' remarked Merton, drawing a dirty clay pipe from his +pocket. 'Hae ye a spunk?' + +The rough provided him with a match, and he killed some time, while +Preston Pans was passed, in filling and lighting his pipe. + +'Ye're a Lanerick man?' asked the inquiring rough. + +'Ay, a Hamilton frae Moss End. But I'm taking the play. Ma auld tittie +has dee'd and left me some siller,' Merton dragged a handful of dirty +notes out of his trousers pocket. 'I've been to see the auld Bowers, but +Lairdie was on the shift.' + +'And ye're ganging to Embro?' + + 'When we cam' into Embro Toon + We were a seemly sicht to see; + Ma luve was in the-- + +I dinna mind what ma luve was in-- + + 'And I ma'sel in cramoisie,' + +sang Merton, who had the greatest fear of being asked local questions +about Moss End and Motherwell. 'I dinna ken what cramoisie is, ma'sel',' +he added. 'Hae a drink!' + +'Man, ye're a bonny singer,' said the rough, who, hitherto, had taken no +hand in the conversation. + +'Ma faither was a precentor,' said Merton, and so, in fact, Mr. Merton +_pere_ had, for a short time, been--of Salisbury Cathedral. + +They were approaching Portobello, where Merton rushed to the window, +thrust half of his body out and indulged in the raucous and meaningless +yells of the festive artisan. Thus he tided over a rather prolonged +wait, but, when the train moved on, the inquiring rough returned to the +charge. He was suspicious, and also was drunk, and obstinate with all +the brainless obstinacy of intoxication. + +'Aw 'm sayin',' he remarked to Merton, 'you're no Lairdie Bower.' + +'Hear till the man! Aw 'm Tammy Hamilton, o' Moss End in Lanerick. Aw +'m ganging to see ma Jean. + + 'For day or night + Ma fancy's flight + Is ever wi' ma Jean-- + Ma bonny, bonny, flat-footed Jean,' + +sang Merton, gliding from the strains of Robert Burns into those of Mr. +Boothby. 'Jean's a Lanerick wumman,' he added, 'she's in service in the +Pleasance. Aw 'm ganging to my Jo. Ye'll a' hae Jos, billies?' + +'Aw 'm sayin',' the intoxicated rough persisted, 'ye're no a Lanerick +man. Ye're the English gentleman birkie that cam' to Kirkburn yestreen. +Or else ye're ane o' the polis' (police). + +'_Me_ ane o' the polis! Aw 'm askin' the company, _div_ a look like a +polisman? _Div_ a look like an English birkie, or ane o' the gentry?' + +The other passengers, decent people, thus appealed to, murmured +negatives, and shook their heads. Merton certainly did not resemble a +policeman, an Englishman, or a gentleman. + +'Ye see naebody lippens to ye,' Merton went on. 'Man, if we were na a' +freens, a wad gie ye a jaud atween yer twa een! But ye've been drinking. +Tak anither sook!' + +The rough did not reject the conciliatory offer. + +'The whiskey's low,' said Merton, holding up the bottle to the light, +'but there's mair at Embro' station.' + +They were now drawing up at the station. Merton floundered out, threw +his arms round the necks of each of the roughs, yelled to their +companions in the next carriage to follow, and staggered into the third- +class refreshment room. Here he leaned against the counter and feebly +ogled the attendant nymph. + +'Ma lonny bassie, a mean ma bonny lassie,' he said, 'gie's five gills, +five o' the Auld Kirk' (whisky). + +'Hoots man!' he heard one of the roughs remark to another. 'This falla's +no the English birkie. English he canna be.' + +'But aiblins he's ane o' oor ain polis,' said the man of suspicions. + +'Nane o' oor polis has the gumption; and him as fou as a fiddler.' + +Merton, waving his glass, swallowed its contents at three gulps. He then +fell on the floor, scrambled to his feet, tumbled out, and dashed his own +whisky bottle through the window of the refreshment room. + +'Me ane o' the polis!' he yelled, and was staggering towards the exit, +when he was collared by two policemen, attracted by the noise. He +embraced one of them, murmuring 'ma bonny Jean!' and then doubled up, his +head lolling on his shoulder. His legs and arms jerked convulsively, and +he had at last to be carried off, in the manner known as 'The Frog's +March,' by four members of the force. The roughs followed, like chief +mourners, Merton thought, at the head of the attendant crowd. + +'There's an end o' your clash about the English gentleman,' Merton heard +the quieter of his late companions observe to the obstinate inquirer. +'But he's a bonny singer. And noo, wull ye tell me hoo we're to win back +to Drem the nicht?' + +'Dod, we'll make a nicht o't,' said the other, as Merton was carried into +the police-station. + +He permitted himself to be lifted into one of the cells, and then +remarked, in the most silvery tones: + +'Very many thanks, my good men. I need not give you any more trouble, +except by asking you, if possible, to get me some hot water and soap, and +to invite the inspector to favour me with his company.' + +The men nearly dropped Merton, but, finding his feet, he stood up and +smiled blandly. + +'Pray make no apologies,' he said. 'It is rather I who ought to +apologise.' + +'He's no drucken, and he's no Scotch,' remarked one of the policemen. + +'But he'll pass the nicht here, and maybe apologise to the Baillie in the +morning,' said another. + +'Oh, pardon me, you mistake me,' said Merton. 'This is not a stupid +practical joke.' + +'It's no a very gude ane,' said the policeman. + +Merton took out a handful of gold. 'I wish to pay for the broken window +at once,' he said. 'It was a necessary part of the _mise en scene_, of +the stage effect, you know. To call your attention.' + +'Ye'll settle wi' the Baillie in the morning,' said the policeman. + +Things were looking untoward. + +'Look here,' said Merton, 'I quite understand your point of view, it does +credit to your intelligence. You take me for an English tourist, +behaving as I have done by way of a joke, or for a bet?' + +'That's it, sir,' said the spokesman. + +'Well, it does look like that. But which of you is the senior officer +here?' + +'Me, sir,' said the last speaker. + +'Very well, if you can be so kind as to call the officer in charge of the +station, or even one of senior standing--the higher the better--I can +satisfy him as to my identity, and as to my reasons for behaving as I +have done. I assure you that it is a matter of the very gravest +importance. If the inspector, when he has seen me, permits, I have no +objections to you, or to all of you hearing what I have to say. But you +will understand that this is a matter for his own discretion. If I were +merely playing the fool, you must see that I have nothing to gain by +giving additional annoyance and offence.' + +'Very well, sir, I will bring the officer in charge,' said the policeman. + +'Just tell him about my arrest and so on,' said Merton. + +In a few minutes he returned with his superior. + +'Well, my man, what's a' this aboot?' said that officer sternly. + +'If you can give me an interview, alone, for five minutes, I shall +enlighten you,' said Merton. + +The officer was a huge and stalwart man. He threw his eye over Merton. +'Wait in the yaird,' he said to his minions, who retreated rather +reluctantly. 'Weel, speak up,' said the officer. + +'It is the body snatching case at Kirkburn,' said Merton. + +'Do ye mean that ye're an English detective?' + +'No, merely a friend of Mr. Logan's who left Kirkburn this evening. I +have business to do for him in London in connection with the +case--business that nobody can do but myself--and the house was watched. +I escaped in the disguise which you see me wearing, and had to throw off +a gang of ruffians that accompanied me in the train by pretending to be +drunk. I could only shake them off and destroy the suspicions which they +expressed by getting arrested.' + +'It's a queer story,' said the policeman. + +'It _is_ a queer story, but, speaking without knowledge, I think your +best plan is to summon the chief of your detective department, I need his +assistance. And I can prove my identity to him--to _you_, if you like, +but you know best what is official etiquette.' + +'I'll telephone for him, sir.' + +'You are very obliging. All this is confidential, you know. Expense is +no object to Mr. Logan, and he will not be ungrateful if strict secrecy +is preserved. But, of all things, I want a wash.' + +'All right, sir,' said the policeman, and in a few minutes Merton's head, +hands, and neck, were restored to their pristine propriety. + +'No more kailyard talk for me,' he thought, with satisfaction. + +The head of the detective department arrived in no long time. He was in +evening dress. Merton rose and bowed. + +'What's your story, sir?' the chief asked; 'it has brought me from a +dinner party at my own house.' + +'I deeply regret it,' said Merton, 'though, for my purpose, it is the +merest providence.' + +'What do you mean, sir?' + +'Your subordinate has doubtless told you all that I told him?' + +The chief nodded. + +'Do you--I mean as an official--believe me?' + +'I would be glad of proof of your personal identity.' + +'That is easily given. You may know Mr. Lumley, the Professor of +Toxicology in the University here?' + +'I have met him often on matters of our business.' + +'He is an old college friend of mine, and can remove any doubts you may +entertain. His wife is a tall woman luckily,' added Merton to himself, +much to the chief's bewilderment. + +'Mr. Lumley's word would quite satisfy me,' said the chief. + +'Very well, pray lend me your attention. This affair--' + +'The body snatching at Kirkburn?' asked the chief. + +'Exactly,' said Merton. 'This affair is very well organised. Your house +is probably being observed. Now what I propose is _this_. I can go +nowhere dressed as I am. You will, if you please, first send a +constable, in uniform, to your house with orders to wait till you return. +Next, I shall dress, by your permission, in any spare uniform you may +have here and in that costume I shall leave this office and accompany you +to your house in a closed cab. You will enter it, bring out a hat and +cloak, come into the cab, and I shall put them on, leaving my policeman's +helmet in the cab, which will wait. Then, minutes later, the constable +will come out, take the cab, and drive to any police office you please. +Once within your house, I shall exchange my uniform for any old evening +suit you may be able to lend me, and, when your guests have departed, you +and I will drive together to Professor Lumley's, where he will identify +me. After that, my course is perfectly clear, and I need give you no +further trouble.' + +'It is too complicated, sir,' said the chief, smiling. 'I don't know +your name?' + +'Merton,' said our hero, 'and yours?' + +'Macnab. I can lend you a plain suit of morning clothes from here, and +we don't want the stratagem of the constable. You don't even need the +extra trouble of putting on evening dress in my house.' + +'How very fortunate,' said Merton, and in a quarter of an hour he was +attired as a simple citizen, and was driving to the house of Mr. Macnab. +Here he was merely introduced to the guests--it was a men's party--as a +gentleman from England on business. The guests had too much tact to +tarry long, and by eleven o'clock the chief and Merton were ringing at +the door bell of Professor Lumley. The servant knew both of them, and +ushered them into the professor's study. He was reading examination +papers. Mrs. Lumley had not returned from a party. Lumley greeted +Merton warmly. + +'I am passing through Edinburgh, and thought I might find you at home,' +Merton said. + +'Mr. Macnab,' said Lumley, shaking hands with the chief, 'you have not +taken my friend into custody?' + +'No, professor; Mr. Merton will tell you that he is released, and I'll be +going home.' + +'You won't stop and smoke?' + +'No, I should be _de trop_,' answered the chief; 'good night, professor; +good night, Mr. Merton.' + +'But the broken window?' + +'Oh, we'll settle that, and let you have the bill.' + +Merton gave his club address, and the chief shook hands and departed. + +'Now, what _have_ you been doing, Merton?' asked Lumley. + +Merton briefly explained the whole set of circumstances, and added, 'Now, +Lumley, you are my sole hope. You can give me a bed to-night?' + +'With all the pleasure in the world.' + +'And lend me a set of Mrs. Lumley's raiment and a lady's portmanteau?' + +'Are you quite mad?' + +'No, but I must get to London undiscovered, and, for certain reasons, +with which I need not trouble you, that is absolutely the only possible +way. You remember, at Oxford, I made up fairly well for female parts.' + +'Is there absolutely no other way?' + +'None, I have tried every conceivable plan, mentally. Mourning is best, +and a veil.' + +At this moment Mrs. Lumley's cab was heard, returning from her party. + +'Run down and break it to Mrs. Lumley,' said Merton. 'Luckily we have +often acted together.' + +'Luckily you are a favourite of hers,' said Lumley. + +In ten minutes the pair entered the study. Mrs. Lumley, a tall lady, as +Merton had said, came in, laughing and blushing. + +'I shall drive with you myself to the train. My maid must be in the +secret,' she said. + +'She is an old acquaintance of mine,' said Merton. 'But I think you had +better not come with me to the station. Nobody is likely to see me, +leaving your house about nine, with my veil down. But, if any one _does_ +see me, he must take me for you.' + +'Oh, it is I who am running up to town incognita?' + +'For a day or two--you will lend me a portmanteau to give local colour?' + +'With pleasure,' said Mrs. Lumley. + +'And Lumley will telegraph to Trevor to meet you at King's Cross, with +his brougham, at 6.15 P. M.?' + +This also was agreed to, and so ended this romance of Bradshaw. + + + +IV. Greek meets Greek + + +At about twenty-five minutes to seven, on March 7, the express entered +King's Cross. A lady of fashionable appearance, with her veil down, +gazed anxiously out of the window of a reserved carriage. She presently +detected the person for whom she was looking, and waved her parasol. +Trevor, lifting his hat, approached; the lady had withdrawn into the +carriage, and he entered. + +'Mum's the word!' said the lady. + +'Why, it's--hang it all, it's Merton!' + +'Your sister is staying with you?' asked Merton eagerly. + +'Yes; but what on earth--' + +'I'll tell you in the brougham. But you take a weight off my bosom! I +am going to stay with you for a day or two; and now my reputation (or +Mrs. Lumley's) is safe. Your servants never saw Mrs. Lumley?' + +'Never,' said Trevor. + +'All right! My portmanteau has her initials, S. M. L., and a crimson +ticket; send a porter for it. Now take me to the brougham.' + +Trevor offered his arm and carried the dressing-bag; the lady was led to +his carriage. The portmanteau was recovered, and they drove away. + +'Give me a cigarette,' said Merton, 'and I'll tell you all about it.' + +He told Trevor all about it--except about the emu's feathers. + +'But a male disguise would have done as well,' said Trevor + +'Not a bit. It would not have suited what I have to do in town. I +cannot tell you why. The affair is complex. I have to settle it, if I +can, so that neither Logan nor any one else--except the body-snatcher and +polite letter-writer--shall ever know how I managed it.' + +Trevor had to be content with this reply. He took Merton, when they +arrived, into the smoking-room, rang for tea, and 'squared his sister,' +as he said, in the drawing-room. The pair were dining out, and after a +solitary dinner, Merton (in a tea-gown) occupied himself with literary +composition. He put his work in a large envelope, sealed it, marked it +with a St. Andrew's cross, and, when Trevor returned, asked him to put it +in his safe. 'Two days after to-morrow, if I do not appear, you must +open the envelope and read the contents,' he said. + +After luncheon on the following day--a wet day--Miss Trevor and Merton +(who was still arrayed as Mrs. Lumley) went out shopping. Miss Trevor +then drove off to pay a visit (Merton could not let her know his next +move), and he himself, his veil down, took a four-wheeled cab, and drove +to Madame Claudine's. He made one or two purchases, and then asked for +the head of the establishment, an Irish lady. To her he confided that he +had to break a piece of distressing family news to Miss Markham, of the +cloak department; that young lady was summoned; Madame Claudine, with a +face of sympathy, ushered them into her private room, and went off to see +a customer. Miss Markham was pale and trembling; Merton himself felt +agitated. + +'Is it about my father, or--' the girl asked. + +'Pray be calm,' said Merton. 'Sit down. Both are well.' + +The girl started. 'Your voice--' she said. + +'Exactly,' said Merton; 'you know me.' And taking off his glove, he +showed a curious mediaeval ring, familiar to his friends. 'I could get +at you in no other way than this,' he said, 'and it was absolutely +necessary to see you.' + +'What is it? I know it is about my father,' said the girl. + +'He has done us a great service,' said Merton soothingly. He had guessed +what the 'distressing circumstances' were in which the marquis had been +restored to life. Perhaps the reader guesses? A discreet person, who +has secretly to take charge of a corpse of pecuniary value, adopts +certain measures (discovered by the genius of ancient Egypt), for its +preservation. These measures, doubtless, had revived the marquis, who +thus owed his life to his kidnapper. + +'He has, I think, done us a great service,' Merton repeated; and the +girl's colour returned to her beautiful face, that had been of marble. + +'Yet there are untoward circumstances,' Merton admitted. 'I wish to ask +you two or three questions. I must give you my word of honour that I +have no intention of injuring your father. The reverse; I am really +acting in his interests. Now, first, he has practised in Australia. May +I ask if he was interested in the Aborigines?' + +'Yes, very much,' said the girl, entirely puzzled. 'But,' she added, 'he +was never in the Labour trade.' + +'Blackbird catching?' said Merton. 'No. But he had, perhaps, a +collection of native arms and implements?' + +'Yes; a very fine one.' + +'Among them were, perhaps, some curious native shoes, made of emu's +feathers--they are called _Interlinia_ or, by white men, _Kurdaitcha_ +shoes?' + +'I don't remember the name,' said Miss Markham, 'but he had quite a +number of them. The natives wear them to conceal their tracks when they +go on a revenge party.' + +Merton's guess was now a certainty. The marquis had spoken of Miss +Markham's father as a 'landlouping' Australian doctor. The footmarks of +the feathered shoes in the snow at Kirkburn proved that an article which +only an Australian (or an anthropologist) was likely to know of had been +used by the body-snatchers. + +Merton reflected. Should he ask the girl whether she had told her father +what, on the night of the marquis's appearance at the office, Logan had +told her? He decided that this was superfluous; of course she had told +her father, and the doctor had taken his measures (and the body of the +marquis) accordingly. To ask a question would only be to enlighten the +girl. + +'That is very interesting,' said Merton. 'Now, I won't pretend that I +disguised myself in this way merely to ask you about Australian +curiosities. The truth is that, in your father's interests, I must have +an interview with him.' + +'You don't mean to do him any harm?' asked the girl anxiously. + +'I have given you my word of honour. As things stand, I do not conceal +from you that I am the only person who can save him from a situation +which might be disagreeable, and that is what I want to do.' + +'He will be quite safe if he sees you?' asked the girl, wringing her +hands. + +'That is the only way in which he can be safe, I am afraid.' + +'You would not use a girl against her own father?' + +'I would sooner die where I sit,' said Merton earnestly. 'Surely you can +trust a friend of Mr. Logan's--who, by the bye, is very well.' + +'Oh, oh,' cried the girl, 'I read that story of the stolen corpse in the +papers. I understand!' + +'It was almost inevitable that you should understand,' said Merton. + +'But then,' said the girl, 'what did you mean by saying that my father +has done you a great service. You are deceiving me. I have said too +much. This is base!' Miss Markham rose, her eyes and cheeks burning. + +'What I told you is the absolute and entire truth,' said Merton, nearly +as red as she was. + +'Then,' exclaimed Miss Markham, 'this is baser yet! You must mean that +by doing what you think he has done my father has somehow enabled +Robert--Mr. Logan--to come into the marquis's property. Perhaps the +marquis left no will, or the will--is gone! And do you believe that Mr. +Logan will thank you for acting in this way?' She stood erect, her hand +resting on the back of a chair, indignant and defiant. + +'In the first place, I have a written power from Mr. Logan to act as I +think best. Next, I have not even informed myself as to how the law of +Scotland stands in regard to the estate of a man who dies leaving no +will. Lastly, Miss Markham, I am extremely hampered by the fact that Mr. +Logan has not the remotest suspicion of what I suspected--and now know--to +be the truth as to the disappearance of his cousin's body. I +successfully concealed my idea from Mr. Logan, so as to avoid giving pain +to him and you. I did my best to conceal it from you, though I never +expected to succeed. And now, if you wish to know how your father has +conferred a benefit on Mr. Logan, I must tell you, though I would rather +be silent. Mr. Logan is aware of the benefit, but will never, if you can +trust yourself, suspect his benefactor.' + +'I can never, never see him again,' the girl sobbed. + +'Time is flying,' said Merton, who was familiar, in works of fiction, +with the situation indicated by the girl. 'Can you trust me, or not?' he +asked, 'My single object is secrecy and your father's safety. I owe that +to my friend, to you, and even, as it happens, to your father. Can you +enable me, dressed as I am, to have an interview with him?' + +'You will not hurt him? You will not give him up? You will not bring +the police on him?' + +'I am acting as I do precisely for the purpose of keeping the police off +him. They have discovered nothing.' + +The girl gave a sigh of relief. + +'Your father's only danger would lie in my--failure to return from my +interview with him. Against _that_ I cannot safeguard him; it is fair to +tell you so. But my success in persuading him to adopt a certain course +would be equally satisfactory to Mr. Logan and to himself.' + +'Mr. Logan knows nothing?' + +'Absolutely nothing. I alone, and now you, know anything.' + +The girl walked up and down in agony. + +'Nobody will ever know if I do not tell you how to find him,' she said. + +'Unhappily that is not the case. I only ask _you_, so that it may not be +necessary to take other steps, tardy, but certain, and highly +undesirable.' + +'You will not go to him armed?' + +'I give you my word of honour,' said Merton. 'I have risked myself +unarmed already.' + +The girl paused with fixed eyes that saw nothing. Merton watched her. +Then she took her resolve. + +'I do not know where he is living. I know that on Wednesdays, that is, +the day after to-morrow, he is to be found at Dr. Fogarty's, a private +asylum, a house with a garden, in Water Lane, Hammersmith.' + +It was the lane in which stood the Home for Destitute and Decayed Cats, +whither Logan had once abducted Rangoon, the Siamese puss. + +'Thank you,' said Merton simply. 'And I am to ask for?' + +'Ask first for Dr. Fogarty. You will tell him that you wish to see the +_Ertwa Oknurcha_.' + +'Ah, Australian for "The Big Man,"' said Merton. + +'I don't know what it means,' said Miss Markham. 'Dr. Fogarty will then +ask, "Have you the _churinga_?"' + +The girl drew out a slim gold chain which hung round her neck and under +her dress. At the end of it was a dark piece of wood, shaped much like a +large cigar, and decorated with incised concentric circles, stained red. + +'Take that and show it to Dr. Fogarty,' said Miss Markham, detaching the +object from the chain. + +Merton returned it to her. 'I know where to get a similar _churinga_,' +he said. 'Keep your own. Its absence, if asked for, might lead to +awkward questions.' + +'Thank you, I can trust you,' said Miss Markham, adding, 'You will +address my father as Dr. Melville.' + +'Again thanks, and good-bye,' said Merton. He bowed and withdrew. + +'She is a good deal upset, poor girl,' Merton remarked to Madame +Claudine, who, on going to comfort Miss Markham with tea, found her +weeping. Merton took another cab, and drove to Trevor's house. + +After dinner (at which there were no guests), and in the smoking-room, +Trevor asked whether he had made any progress. + +'Everything succeeded to a wish,' said Merton. 'You remember Water +Lane?' + +'Where Logan carried the Siamese cat in my cab,' said Trevor, grinning at +the reminiscence. 'Rather! I reconnoitred the place with Logan.' + +'Well, on the day after to-morrow I have business there.' + +'Not at the Cats' Home?' + +'No, but perhaps you might reconnoitre again. Do you remember a house +with high walls and spikes on them?' + +'I do,' said Trevor; 'but how do you know? You never were there. You +disapproved of Logan's method in the case of the cat.' + +'I never was there; I only made a guess, because the house I am +interested in is a private asylum.' + +'Well, you guessed right. What then?' + +'You might reconnoitre the ground to-morrow--the exits, there are sure to +be some towards waste land or market gardens.' + +'Jolly!' said Trevor. 'I'll make up as a wanderer from Suffolk, looking +for a friend in the slums; semi-bargee kind of costume.' + +'That would do,' said Merton. 'But you had better go in the early +morning.' + +'A nuisance. Why?' + +'Because, later, you will have to get a gang of fellows to be about the +house the day after, when I pay my visit.' + +'Fellows of our own sort, or the police?' + +'Neither. I thought of fellows of our own sort. They would talk and +guess.' + +'Better get some of Ned Mahony's gang?' asked Trevor. + +Mr. Mahony was an ex-pugilist, and a distinguished instructor in the art +of self-defence. He also was captain of a gang of 'chuckers out.' + +'Yes,' said Merton, 'that is my idea. _They_ will guess, too; but when +they know the place is a private lunatic asylum their hypothesis is +obvious.' + +'They'll think that a patient is to be rescued?' + +'That will be their idea. And the old trick is a good trick. Cart of +coals blocked in the gateway, or with another cart--the bigger the +better--in the lane. The men will dress accordingly. Others will have +stolen to the back and sides of the house; you will, in short, stop the +earths after I enter. Your brougham, after setting me down, will wait in +Hammersmith Road, or whatever the road outside is.' + +'I may come?' asked Trevor. + +'In command, as a coal carter.' + +'Hooray!' said Trevor, 'and I'll tell you what, I won't reconnoitre as a +bargee, but as a servant out of livery sent to look for a cat at the +Home. And I'll mistake the asylum for the Home for Cats, and try to +scout a little inside the gates.' + +'Capital,' said Merton. 'Then, later, I want you to go to a curiosity +shop near the Museum' (he mentioned the street), 'and look into the +window. You'll see a little brown piece of wood like _this_.' Merton +sketched rapidly the piece of wood which Miss Markham wore under her +dress. 'The man has several. Buy one about the size of a big cigar for +me, and buy one or two other trifles first.' + +'The man knows me,' said Trevor, 'I have bought things from him.' + +'Very good, but don't buy it when any other customer is in the shop. And, +by the way, take Mrs. Lumley's portmanteau--the lock needs mending--to +Jones's in Sloane Street to be repaired. One thing more, I should like +to add a few lines to that manuscript I gave you to keep in your safe.' + +Trevor brought the sealed envelope. Merton added a paragraph and +resealed it. Trevor locked it up again. + +On the following day Trevor started early, did his scouting in Water +Lane, and settled with Mr. Mahony about his gang of muscular young prize- +fighters. He also brought the native Australian curiosity, and sent Mrs. +Lumley's portmanteau to have the lock repaired. + +Merton determined to call at Dr. Fogarty's asylum at four in the +afternoon. The gang, under Trevor, was to arrive half an hour later, and +to surround and enter the premises if Merton did not emerge within half +an hour. + +At four o'clock exactly Trevor's brougham was at the gates of the asylum. +The footman rang the bell, a porter opened a wicket, and admitted a lady +of fashionable aspect, who asked for Dr. Fogarty. She was ushered into +his study, her card ('Louise, 13 --- Street') was taken by the servant, +and Dr. Fogarty appeared. He was a fair, undecided looking man, with +blue wandering eyes, and long untidy, reddish whiskers. He bowed and +looked uncomfortable, as well he might. + +'I have called to see the _Ertwa Oknurcha_, Dr. Fogarty,' said Merton. + +'Oh Lord,' said Dr. Fogarty, and murmured, 'Another of his lady friends!' +adding, 'I must ask, Miss, have you the _churinga_?' + +Merton produced, out of his muff, the Australian specimen which Trevor +had bought. + +The doctor inspected it. 'I shall take it to the _Ertwa Oknurcha_,' he +said, and shambled out. Presently he returned. 'He will see you, Miss.' + +Merton found the redoubtable Dr. Markham, an elderly man, clean shaven, +prompt-looking, with very keen dark eyes, sitting at a writing table, +with a few instruments of his profession lying about. The table stood on +an oblong space of uncarpeted and polished flooring of some extent. Dr. +Fogarty withdrew, the other doctor motioned Merton to a chair on the +opposite side of the table. This chair was also on the uncarpeted space, +and Merton observed four small brass plates in the parquet. Arranging +his draperies, and laying aside his muff, Merton sat down, slightly +shifting the position of the chair. + +'Perhaps, Dr. Melville,' he said, 'it will be more reassuring to you if I +at once hold my hands up,' and he sat there and smiled, holding up his +neatly gloved hands. + +The doctor stared, and _his_ hand stole towards an instrument like an +unusually long stethoscope, which lay on his table. + +Merton sat there 'hands up,' still smiling. 'Ah, the blow-tube?' he +said. 'Very good and quiet! Do you use _urali_? Infinitely better, at +close quarters, than the noisy old revolver.' + +'I see I have to do with a cool hand, sir,' said the doctor. + +'Ah,' said Merton. 'Then let us talk as between man and man.' He tilted +his chair backwards, and crossed his legs. 'By the way, as I have no +Aaron and Hur to help me to hold up my hands, may I drop them? The +attitude, though reassuring, is fatiguing.' + +'If you won't mind first allowing me to remove your muff,' said the +doctor. It lay on the table in front of Merton. + +'By all means, no gun in my muff,' said Merton. 'In fact I think the +whole pistol business is overdone, and second rate.' + +'I presume that I have the honour to speak to Mr. Merton?' asked the +doctor. 'You slipped through the cordon?' + +'Yes, I was the intoxicated miner,' said Merton. 'No doubt you have +received a report from your agents?' + +'Stupid fellows,' said the doctor. + +'You are not flattering to me, but let us come to business. How much?' + +'I need hardly ask,' said the doctor, 'it would be an insult to your +intelligence, whether you have taken the usual precautions?' + +Merton, whose chair was tilted, threw himself violently backwards, +upsetting his chair, and then scrambled nimbly to his feet. Between him +and the table yawned a square black hole of unknown depth. + +'Hardly fair, Dr. Melville,' said he, picking up the chair, and placing +it on the carpet, 'besides, I _have_ taken the ordinary precautions. The +house is surrounded--Ned Mahony's lambs--the usual statement is in the +safe of a friend. We must really come to the point. Time is flying,' +and he looked at his watch. 'I can give you twenty minutes.' + +'Have you anything in the way of terms to propose?' asked the doctor, +filling his pipe. + +'Well, first, absolute secrecy. I alone know the state of the case.' + +'Has Mr. Logan no guess?' + +'Not the faintest suspicion. The detectives, when I left Kirkburn, had +not even found the trap door, you understand. You hit on its discovery +through knowing the priest's hole at Oxburgh Hall, I suppose?' + +The doctor nodded. + +'You can guarantee absolute secrecy?' he asked. + +'Naturally, the knowledge is confined to me, you, and your partners. I +want the secrecy in Mr. Logan's interests, and you know why.' + +'Well,' said the doctor, 'that is point one. So far I am with you.' + +'Then, to enter on odious details,' said Merton, 'had you thought of any +terms?' + +'The old man was stiff,' said the doctor, 'and your side only offered to +double him in your advertisement, you know.' + +'That was merely a way of speaking,' said Merton. 'What did the marquis +propose?' + +'Well, as his offer is not a basis of negotiation?' + +'Certainly not,' said Merton. + +'Five hundred he offered, out of which we were to pay his fare back to +Scotland.' + +Both men laughed. + +'But you have your own ideas?' said Merton. + +'I had thought of 15,000_l_. and leaving England. He is a +multimillionaire, the marquis.' + +'It is rather a pull,' said Merton. 'Now speaking as a professional man, +and on honour, how _is_ his lordship?' Merton asked. + +'Speaking as a professional man, he _may_ live a year; he cannot live +eighteen months, I stake my reputation on that.' + +Merton mused. + +'I'll tell you what we can do,' he said. 'We can guarantee the interest, +at a fancy rate, say five per cent, during the marquis's life, which you +reckon as good for a year and a half, at most. The lump sum we can pay +on his decease.' + +The doctor mused in his turn. + +'I don't like it. He may alter his will, and then--where do I come in?' + +'Of course that is an objection,' said Merton. 'But where do you come in +if you refuse? Logan, I can assure you (I have read up the Scots law +since I came to town), is the heir if the marquis dies intestate. Suppose +that I do not leave this house in a few minutes, Logan won't bargain with +you; we settled _that_; and really you will have taken a great deal of +trouble to your own considerable risk. You see the usual document, my +statement, is lodged with a friend.' + +'There is certainly a good deal in what you say,' remarked the doctor. + +'Then, to take a more cheerful view,' said Merton, 'I have medical +authority for stating that any will made now, or later, by the marquis, +would probably be upset, on the ground of mental unsoundness, you know. +So Logan would succeed, in spite of a later will.' + +The doctor smiled. 'That point I grant. Well, one must chance +something. I accept your proposals. You will give me a written +agreement, signed by Mr. Logan, for the arrangement.' + +'Yes, I have power to act.' + +'Then, Mr. Merton, why in the world did you not let your friend walk in +Burlington Arcade, and see the lady? He would have been met with the +same terms, and could have proposed the same modifications.' + +'Well, Dr. Melville, first, I was afraid that he might accidentally +discover the real state of the case, as I surmised that it existed--that +might have led to family inconveniences, you know.' + +'Yes,' the doctor admitted, 'I have felt that. My poor daughter, a good +girl, sir! It wrung my heartstrings, I assure you.' + +'I have the warmest sympathy with you,' said Merton, going on. 'Well, in +the second place, I was not sure that I could trust Mr. Logan, who has +rather a warm temper, to conduct the negotiations. Thirdly, I fear I +must confess that I did what I have done--well, "for human pleasure."' + +'Ah, you are young,' said the doctor, sighing. + +'Now,' said Merton, 'shall I sign a promise? We can call Dr. Fogarty up +to witness it. By the bye, what about "value received"? Shall we say +that we purchase your ethnological collection?' + +The doctor grinned, and assented, the deed was written, signed, and +witnessed by Dr. Fogarty, who hastily retreated. + +'Now about restoring the marquis,' said Merton. 'He's here, of course; +it was easy enough to get him into an asylum. Might I suggest a gag, if +by chance you have such a thing about you? To be removed, of course, +when once I get him into the house of a friend. And the usual bandage +over his eyes: he must never know where he has been.' + +'You think of everything, Mr. Merton,' said the doctor. 'But, how are +you to account for the marquis's reappearance alive?' he asked. + +'Oh _that_--easily! My first theory, which I fortunately mentioned to +his medical attendant, Dr. Douglas, in the train, before I reached +Kirkburn, was that he had recovered from catalepsy, and had secretly +absconded, for the purpose of watching Mr. Logan's conduct. We shall +make him believe that this is the fact, and the old woman who watched +him--' + +'Plucky old woman,' said the doctor. + +'Will swear to anything that he chooses to say.' + +'Well, that is your affair,' said the doctor. + +'Now,' said Merton, 'give me a receipt for 750_l_.; we shall tell the +marquis that we had to spring 250_l_. on his original offer.' + +The doctor wrote out, stamped, and signed the receipt. 'Perhaps I had +better walk in front of you down stairs?' he asked Merton. + +'Perhaps it really would be more hospitable,' Merton acquiesced. + +Merton was ushered again into Dr. Fogarty's room on the ground floor. +Presently the other doctor reappeared, leading a bent and much muffled up +figure, who preserved total silence--for excellent reasons. The doctor +handed to Merton a sealed envelope, obviously the marquis's will. Merton +looked closely into the face of the old marquis, whose eyes, dropping +senile tears, showed no sign of recognition. + +Dr. Fogarty next adjusted a silken bandage, over a wad of cotton wool, +which he placed on the eyes of the prisoner. + +Merton then took farewell of Dr. Melville (_alias_ Markham); he and Dr. +Fogarty supported the tottering steps of Lord Restalrig, and they led him +to the gate. + +'Tell the porter to call my brougham,' said Merton to Dr. Fogarty. + +The brougham was called and came to the gate, evading a coal-cart which +was about to enter the lane. Merton aided the marquis to enter, and said +'Home.' A few rough fellows, who were loitering in the lane, looked +curiously on. In half an hour the marquis, his gag and the bandage round +his eyes removed, was sitting in Trevor's smoking-room, attended to by +Miss Trevor. + +It is probably needless to describe the simple and obvious process +(rather like that of the Man, the Goose, and the Fox) by which Mrs. +Lumley, with her portmanteau, left Trevor's house that evening to pay +another visit, while Merton himself arrived, in evening dress, to dinner +at a quarter past eight. He had telegraphed to Logan: 'Entirely +successful. Come up by the 11.30 to-night, and bring Mrs. Bower.' + +The marquis did not appear at dinner. He was in bed, and, thanks to a +sleeping potion, slumbered soundly. He awoke about nine in the morning +to find Mrs. Bower by his bedside. + +'Eh, marquis, finely we have jinked them,' said Mrs. Bower; and she went +on to recount the ingenious measures by which the marquis, recovering +from his 'dwawm,' had secretly withdrawn himself. + +'I mind nothing of it, Jeanie, my woman,' said the marquis. 'I thought I +wakened with some deevil running a knife into me; he might have gone +further, and I might have fared worse. He asked for money, but, faith, +we niffered long and came to no bargain. And a woman brought me away. +Who was the woman?' + +'Oh, dreams,' said Mrs. Bower. 'Ye had another sair fit o' the dwawming, +and we brought you here to see the London doctors. Hoo could ony mortal +speerit ye away, let be it was the fairies, and me watching you a' the +time! A fine gliff ye gie'd me when ye sat up and askit for sma' yill' +(small beer). + +'I mind nothing of it,' replied the marquis. However, Mrs. Bower stuck +to her guns, and the marquis was, or appeared to be, resigned to accept +her explanation. He dozed throughout the day, but next day he asked for +Merton. Their interview was satisfactory; Merton begged leave to +introduce Logan, and the marquis, quite broken down, received his kinsman +with tears, and said nothing about his marriage. + +'I'm a dying man,' he remarked finally, 'but I'll live long enough to +chouse the taxes.' + +His sole idea was to hand over (in the old Scottish fashion) the main +part of his property to Logan, _inter vivos_, and then to live long +enough to evade the death-duties. Merton and Logan knew well enough the +unsoundness of any such proceedings, especially considering the mental +debility of the old gentleman. However, the papers were made out. The +marquis retired to one of his English seats, after which event his +reappearance was made known to the world. In his English home Logan +sedulously nursed him. A more generous diet than he had ever known +before did wonders for the marquis, though he peevishly remonstrated +against every bottle of wine that was uncorked. He did live for the span +which he deemed necessary for his patriotic purpose, and peacefully +expired, his last words being 'Nae grand funeral.' + +Public curiosity, of course, was keenly excited about the mysterious +reappearance of the marquis in life. But the interviewers could extract +nothing from Mrs. Bower, and Logan declined to be interviewed. To +paragraphists the mystery of the marquis was 'a two months' feast,' like +the case of Elizabeth Canning, long ago. + +Logan inherited under the marquis's original will, and, of course, the +Exchequer benefitted in the way which Lord Restalrig had tried to +frustrate. + +Miss Markham (whose father is now the distinguished head of the +ethnological department in an American museum) did not persist in her +determination never to see Logan again. The beautiful Lady Fastcastle +never allows her photograph to appear in the illustrated weekly papers. +Logan, or rather Fastcastle, does not unto this day, know the secret of +the Emu's feathers, though, later, he sorely tried the secretiveness of +Merton, as shall be shown in the following narrative. + + + + +XII. ADVENTURE OF THE CANADIAN HEIRESS + + +I. At Castle Skrae + + +'How vain a thing is wealth,' said Merton. 'How little it can give of +what we really desire, while of all that is lost and longed for it can +restore nothing--except churches--and to do _that_ ought to be made a +capital offence.' + +'Why do you contemplate life as a whole, Mr. Merton? Why are you so +moral? If you think it is amusing you are very much mistaken! Isn't the +scenery, isn't the weather, beautiful enough for you? _I_ could gaze for +ever at the "unquiet bright Atlantic plain," the rocky isles, those +cliffs of basalt on either hand, while I listened to the crystal stream +that slips into the sea, and waves the yellow fringes of the seaweed. +Don't be melancholy, or I go back to the castle. Try another line!' + +'Ah, I doubt that I shall never wet one here,' said Merton. + +'As to the crystal stream, what business has it to be crystal? That is +just what I complain of. Salmon and sea-trout are waiting out there in +the bay and they can't come up! Not a drop of rain to call rain for the +last three weeks. That is what I meant by moralising about wealth. You +can buy half a county, if you have the money; you can take half a dozen +rivers, but all the millions of our host cannot purchase us a spate, and +without a spate you might as well break the law by fishing in the Round +Pond as in the river.' + +'Luckily for me Alured does not much care for fishing,' said Lady Bude, +who was Merton's companion. The Countess had abandoned, much to her +lord's regret, the coloured and figurative language of her maiden days, +the American slang. Now (as may have been observed) her style was of +that polished character which can only be heard to perfection in circles +socially elevated and intellectually cultured--'in that Garden of the +Souls'--to quote Tennyson. + +The spot where Merton and Lady Bude were seated was beautiful indeed. +They reclined on the short sea grass above a shore where long tresses of +saffron-hued seaweed clothed the boulders, and the bright sea pinks +blossomed. On their right the Skrae, now clearer than amber, mingled its +waters with the sea loch. On their left was a steep bank clad with +bracken, climbing up to perpendicular cliffs of basalt. These ended +abruptly above the valley and the cove, and permitted a view of the +Atlantic, in which, far away, the isle of the Lewis lay like a golden +shield in the faint haze of the early sunset. On the other side of the +sea loch, whose restless waters ever rushed in or out like a rapid river, +with the change of tides, was a small village of white thatched cottages, +the homes of fishermen and crofters. The neat crofts lay behind, in +oblong strips, on the side of the hill. Such was the scene of a +character common on the remote west coast of Sutherland. + +'Alured is no maniac for fishing, luckily,' Lady Bude was saying. 'To-day +he is cat-hunting.' + +'I regret it,' said Merton; 'I profess myself the friend of cats.' + +'He is only trying to photograph a wild cat at home in the hills; they +are very scarce.' + +'In fact he is Jones Harvey, the naturalist again, for the nonce, not the +sportsman,' said Merton. + +'It was as Jones Harvey that he--' said Lady Bude, and, blushing, +stopped. + +'That he grasped the skirts of happy chance,' said Merton. + +'Why don't _you_ grasp the skirts, Mr. Merton?' asked Lady Bude. 'Chance, +or rather Lady Fortune, who wears the skirts, would, I think, be happy to +have them grasped.' + +'Whose skirts do you allude to?' + +'The skirts, short enough in the Highlands, of Miss Macrae,' said Lady +Bude; 'she is a nice girl, and a pretty girl, and a clever girl, and, +after all, there are worse things than millions.' + +Miss Emmeline Macrae was the daughter of the host with whom the Budes and +Merton were staying at Skrae Castle, on Loch Skrae, only an easy mile and +a half from the sea and the cove beside which Merton and Lady Bude were +sitting. + +'There is a seal crawling out on to the shore of the little island!' said +Merton. 'What a brute a man must be who shoots a seal! I could watch +them all day--on a day like this.' + +'That is not answering my question,' said Lady Bude. 'What do you think +of Miss Macrae? I _know_ what you think!' + +'Can a humble person like myself aspire to the daughter of the greatest +living millionaire? Our host can do almost anything but bring a spate, +and even _that_ he could do by putting a dam with a sluice at the foot of +Loch Skrae: a matter of a few thousands only. As for the lady, her heart +it is another's, it never can be mine.' + +'Whose it is?' asked Lady Bude. + +'Is it not, or do my trained instincts deceive me, that of young Blake, +the new poet? Is she not "the girl who gives to song what gold could +never buy"? He is as handsome as a man has no business to be.' + +'He uses belladonna for his eyes,' said Lady Bude. 'I am sure of it.' + +'Well, she does not know, or does not mind, and they are pretty +inseparable the last day or two.' + +'That is your own fault,' said Lady Bude; 'you banter the poet so +cruelly. She pities him.' + +'I wonder that our host lets the fellow keep staying here,' said Merton. +'If Mr. Macrae has a foible, except that of the pedigree of the Macraes +(who were here before the Macdonalds or Mackenzies, and have come back in +his person), it is scientific inventions, electric lighting, and his new +toy, the wireless telegraph box in the observatory. You can see the +tower from here, and the pole with box on top. I don't care for that +kind of thing myself, but Macrae thinks it Paradise to get messages from +the Central News and the Stock Exchange up here, fifty miles from a +telegraph post. Well, yesterday Blake was sneering at the whole affair.' + +'What is this wireless machine? Explain it to me,' said Lady Bude. + +'How can you be so cruel?' asked Merton. + +'Why cruel?' + +'Oh, you know very well how your sex receives explanations. You have +three ways of doing it.' + +'Explain _them_!' + +'Well, the first way is, if a man tries to explain what "per cent" means, +or the difference of "odds on," or "odds against," that is, if they don't +gamble, they cast their hands desperately abroad, and cry, "Oh, don't, I +never _can_ understand!" The second way is to sit and smile, and look +intelligent, and think of their dressmaker, or their children, or their +young man, and then to say, "Thank you, you have made it all so clear!"' + +'And the third way?' + +'The third way is for you to make it plain to the explainer that he does +not understand what he is explaining.' + +'Well, try me; how does the wireless machine work?' + +'Then, to begin with a simple example in ordinary life, you know what +telepathy is?' + +'Of course, but tell me.' + +'Suppose Jones is thinking of Smith, or rather of Smith's sister. Jones +is dying, or in a row, in India. Miss Smith is in Bayswater. She sees +Jones in her drawing-room. The thought of Jones has struck a receiver of +some sort in the brain, say, of Miss Smith. _But_ Miss Smith may not see +him, somebody else may, say her aunt, or the footman. That is because +the aunt or the footman has the properly tuned receiver in her or his +brain, and Miss Smith has not.' + +'I see, so far--but the machine?' + +'That is an electric apparatus charged with a message. The message is +not conducted by wires, but is merely carried along on a new sort of +waves, "Hertz waves," I think, but that does not matter. They roam +through space, these waves, and wherever they meet another machine of the +same kind, a receiver, they communicate it.' + +'Then everybody who has such a machine as Mr. Macrae's gets all Mr. +Macrae's messages for nothing?' asked Lady Bude. + +'They would get them,' said Merton. 'But that is where the artfulness +comes in. Two Italian magicians, or electricians, Messrs. Gianesi and +Giambresi, have invented an improvement suggested by a dodge of the +Indians on the Amazon River. They make machines which are only in tune +with each other. Their machine fires off a message which no other +machine can receive or tap except that of their customer, say Mr. Macrae. +The other receivers all over the world don't get it, they are not in +tune. It is as if Jones could only appear as a wraith to Miss Smith, and +_vice versa_.' + +'How is it done?' + +'Oh, don't ask me! Besides, I fancy it is a trade secret, the tuning. +There's one good thing about it, you know how Highland landscape is +spoiled by telegraph posts?' + +'Yes, everywhere there is always a telegraph post in the foreground.' + +'Well, Mr. Macrae had them when he was here first, but he has had them +all cut down, bless him, since he got the new dodge. He was explaining +it all to Blake and me, and Blake only scoffed, would not understand, +showed he was bored.' + +'I think it delightful! What did Mr. Blake say?' + +'Oh, his usual stuff. Science is an expensive and inadequate substitute +for poetry and the poetic gifts of the natural man, who is still extant +in Ireland. _He_ can flash his thoughts, and any trifles of news he may +pick up, across oceans and continents, with no machinery at all. What is +done in Khartoum is known the same day in Cairo.' + +'What did Mr. Macrae say?' + +'He asked why the Cairo people did not make fortunes on the Stock +Exchange.' + +'And Mr. Blake?' + +'He looked a great deal, but he said nothing. Then, as I said, he showed +that he was bored when Macrae exhibited to us the machine and tried to +teach us how it worked, and the philosophy of it. Blake did not +understand it, nor do I, really, but of course I displayed an intelligent +interest. He didn't display any. He said that the telegraph thing only +brought us nearer to all that a child of nature--' + +'_He_ a child of nature, with his belladonna!' + +'To all that a child of nature wanted to forget. The machine emitted a +serpent of tape, news of Surrey _v_. Yorkshire, and something about +Kaffirs, and Macrae was enormously pleased, for such are the simple joys +of the millionaire, really a child of nature. Some of them keep +automatic hydraulic organs and beastly machines that sing. Now Macrae is +not a man of that sort, and he has only one motor up here, and only uses +_that_ for practical purposes to bring luggage and supplies, but the +wireless thing is the apple of his eye. And Blake sneered.' + +'He is usually very civil indeed, almost grovelling, to the father,' said +Lady Bude. 'But I tell you for your benefit, Mr. Merton, that he has no +chance with the daughter. I know it for certain. He only amuses her. +Now here, you are clever.' + +Merton bowed. + +'Clever, or you would not have diverted me from my question with all that +science. You are not ill looking.' + +'Spare my blushes,' said Merton; adding, 'Lady Bude, if you must be +answered, _you_ are clever enough to have found me out.' + +'That needed less acuteness than you suppose,' said the lady. + +'I am very sorry to hear it,' said Merton. 'You know how utterly +hopeless it is.' + +'There I don't agree with you,' said Lady Bude. + +Merton blushed. 'If you are right,' he said, 'then I have no business to +be here. What am I in the eyes of a man like Mr. Macrae? An adventurer, +that is what he would think me. I did think that I had done nothing, +said nothing, looked nothing, but having the chance--well, I could not +keep away from her. It is not honourable. I must go. . . . I love +her.' + +Merton turned away and gazed at the sunset without seeing it. + +Lady Bude put forth her hand and laid it on his. 'Has this gone on +long?' she asked. + +'Rather an old story,' said Merton. 'I am a fool. That is the chief +reason why I was praying for rain. She fishes, very keen on it. I would +have been on the loch or the river with her. Blake does not fish, and +hates getting wet.' + +'You might have more of her company, if you would not torment the poet +so. The green-eyed monster, jealousy, is on your back.' + +Merton groaned. 'I bar the fellow, anyhow,' he said. 'But, in any case, +now that I know _you_ have found me out, I must be going. If only she +were as poor as I am!' + +'You can't go to-morrow, to-morrow is Sunday,' said Lady Bude. 'Oh, I am +sorry for you. Can't we think of something? Cannot you find an opening? +Do something great! Get her upset on the loch, and save her from +drowning! Mr. Macrae dotes on her; he would be grateful.' + +'Yes, I might take the pin out of the bottom of the boat,' said Merton. +'It is an idea! But she swims at least as well as I do. Besides--hardly +sportsmanlike.' + +Lady Bude tried to comfort him; it is the mission of young matrons. He +must not be in such a hurry to go away. As to Mr. Blake, she could +entirely reassure him. It was a beautiful evening, the lady was fair and +friendly; Nature, fragrant of heather and of the sea, was hushed in a +golden repose. The two talked long, and the glow of sunset was fading; +the eyes of Lady Bude were a little moist, and Merton was feeling rather +consoled when they rose and walked back towards Skrae Castle. It had +been an ancient seat of the Macraes, a clan in relatively modern times, +say 1745, rather wild, impoverished, and dirty; but Mr. Macrae, the great +Canadian millionaire, had bought the old place, with many thousands of +acres 'where victual never grew.' + +Though a landlord in the Highlands he was beloved, for he was the friend +of crofters, as rent was no object to him, and he did not particularly +care for sport. He accepted the argument, dear to the Celt, that salmon +are ground game, and free to all, while the natives were allowed to use +ancient flint-locked fusils on his black cocks. Mr. Macrae was a +thoroughly generous man, and a tall, clean-shaved, graceful personage. +His public gifts were large. He had just given 500,000_l_. to Oxford to +endow chairs and students of Psychical Research, while the rest of the +million was bestowed on Cambridge, to supply teaching in Elementary +Logic. His way of life was comfortable, but simple, except where the +comforts of science and modern improvements were concerned. There were +lifts, or elevators, now in the castle of Skrae, though Blake always went +by the old black corkscrew staircases, holding on by the guiding rope, +after the poetical manner of our ancestors. + +On a knowe which commanded the castle, in a manner that would have pained +Sir Dugald Dalgetty, Mr. Macrae had erected, not a 'sconce,' but an +observatory, with a telescope that 'licked the Lick thing,' as he said. +Indeed it was his foible 'to see the Americans and go one better,' and he +spoke without tolerance of the late boss American millionaire, the +celebrated J. P. van Huytens, recently deceased. + + Duke Humphrey greater wealth computes, + And sticks, they say, at nothing, + +sings the poet. Mr. Macrae computed greater wealth than Mr. van Huytens, +though avoiding ostentation; he did not + + Wear a pair of golden boots, + And silver underclothing. + +The late J. P. van Huytens he regarded with moral scorn. This rival +millionaire had made his wealth by the process (apparently peaceful and +horticultural) of 'watering stocks,' and by the seemingly misplaced +generosity of overcapitalising enterprises, and 'grabbing side shows.' +The nature of these and other financial misdemeanours Merton did not +understand. But he learned from Mr. Macrae that thereby J. P. van +Huytens had scooped in the widow, the orphan, the clergyman, and the +colonel. The two men had met in the most exclusive circles of American +society; with the young van Huytenses the daughter of the millionaire had +even been on friendly terms, but Mr. Macrae retired to Europe, and put a +stop to all that. To do so, indeed, was one of his motives for returning +to the home of his ancestors, the remote and inaccessible Castle Skrae. +_The Sportsman's Guide to Scotland_ says, as to Loch Skrae: 'Railway to +Lairg, then walk or hire forty-five miles.' The young van Huytenses were +not invited to walk or hire. + +Van Huytens had been ostentatious, Mr. Macrae was the reverse. His +costume was of the simplest, his favourite drink (of which he took +little) was what humorists call 'the light wine of the country,' drowned +in Apollinaris water. His establishment was refined, but not gaudy or +luxurious, and the chief sign of wealth at Skrae was the great +observatory with the laboratory, and the surmounting 'pole with box on +top,' as Merton described the apparatus for the new kind of telegraphy. +In the basement of the observatory was lodged the hugest balloon known to +history, and a skilled expert was busied with novel experiments in aerial +navigation. Happily he could swim, and his repeated descents into Loch +Skrae did not daunt his soaring genius. + +Above the basement of the observatory were rooms for bachelors, a smoking- +room, a billiard-room, and a scientific library. The wireless telegraphy +machine (looking like two boxes, one on the top of the other, to the eye +of ignorance) was installed in the smoking-room, and a wire to Mr. +Macrae's own rooms informed him, by ringing a bell (it also rang in the +smoking-room), when the machine began to spread itself out in tape +conveying the latest news. The machine communicated with another in the +establishment of its vendors, Messrs. Gianesi, Giambresi & Co., in Oxford +Street. Thus the millionaire, though residing nearly fifty miles from +the nearest station at Lairg, was as well and promptly informed as if he +dwelt in Fleet Street, and he could issue, without a moment's +procrastination, his commands to sell and buy, and to do such other +things as pertain to the nature of millionaires. When we add that a +steam yacht of great size and comfort, doing an incredible number of +knots an hour on the turbine system, lay at anchor in the sea loch, we +have indicated the main peculiarities of Mr. Macrae's rural +establishment. Wealth, though Merton thought so poorly of it, had +supplied these potentialities of enjoyment; but, alas! disease had +'decimated' the grouse on the moors (of course to decimate now means +almost to extirpate), and the crofters had increased the pleasures of +stalking by making the stags excessively shy, thus adding to the arduous +enjoyment of the true sportsman. + +To Castle Skrae, being such as we have described, Lady Bude and Merton +returned from their sentimental prowl. They found Miss Macrae, in a very +short skirt of the Macrae tartan, trying to teach Mr. Blake to play ping- +pong in the great hall. + +We must describe the young lady, though her charms outdo the powers of +the vehicle of prose. She was tall, slim, and graceful, light of foot as +a deer on the corrie. Her hair was black, save when the sun shone on it +and revealed strands of golden brown; it was simply arrayed, and knotted +on the whitest and shapeliest neck in Christendom. Her eyebrows were +dark, her eyes large and lucid, + + The greyest of things blue, + The bluest of things grey. + +Her complexion was of a clear pallor, like the white rose beloved by her +ancestors; her features were all but classic, with the charm of romance; +but what made her unique was her mouth. It was faintly upturned at the +corners, as in archaic Greek art; she had, in the slightest and most +gracious degree, what Logan, describing her once, called 'the AEginetan +grin.' This gave her an air peculiarly gay and winsome, brilliant, +joyous, and alert. In brief, to use Chaucer's phrase, + + She was as wincy as a wanton colt, + Sweet as a flower, and upright as a bolt. + +She was the girl who was teaching the poet the elements of ping-pong. The +poet usually missed the ball, for he was averse to and unapt for anything +requiring quickness of eye and dexterity of hand. On a seat lay open a +volume of the _Poetry of the Celtic Renascence_, which Blake had been +reading to Miss Macrae till she used the vulgar phrase 'footle,' and +invited him to be educated in ping-pong. Of these circumstances she +cheerfully informed the new-comers, adding that Lord Bude had returned +happy, having photographed a wild cat in its lair. + +'Did he shoot it?' asked Blake. + +'No. He's a sportsman!' said Miss Macrae. + +'That is why I supposed he must have shot the cat,' answered Blake. + +'What is Gaelic for a wild cat, Blake?' asked Merton unkindly. + +Like other modern Celtic poets Mr. Blake was entirely ignorant of the +melodious language of his ancestors, though it had often been stated in +the literary papers that he was 'going to begin' to take lessons. + +'_Sans purr_,' answered Blake; 'the Celtic wild cat has not the servile +accomplishment of purring. The words, a little altered, are the motto of +the Argyle and Sutherland Highlanders. This is the country of the wild +cat.' + +'I thought the "wild cat" was a peculiarly American financial animal,' +said Merton. + +Miss Macrae laughed, and, the gong sounding (by electricity, the wire +being connected with the Greenwich Observatory), she ran lightly up the +central staircase. Lady Bude had hurried to rejoin her lord; Merton and +Blake sauntered out to their rooms in the observatory, Blake with an air +of fatigue and languor. + +'Learning ping-pong easily?' asked Merton. + +'I have more hopes of teaching Miss Macrae the essential and intimate +elements of Celtic poetry,' said Blake. 'One box of books I brought with +me, another arrived to-day. I am about to begin on my Celtic drama of +"Con of the Hundred Battles."' + +'Have you the works of the ancient Sennachie, Macfootle?' asked Merton. +He was jealous, and his usual urbanity was sorely tried by the Irish +bard. In short, he was rude; stupid, too. + +However, Blake had his revenge after dinner, on the roof of the +observatory, where the ladies gathered round him in the faint silver +light, looking over the sleeping sea. 'Far away to the west,' he said, +'lies the Celtic paradise, the Isle of Apples!' + +'American apples are excellent,' said Merton, but the beauty of the scene +and natural courtesy caused Miss Macrae to whisper 'Hush!' + +The poet went on, 'May I speak to you the words of the emissary from the +lovely land?' + +'The mysterious female?' said Merton brutally. 'Dr. Hyde calls her "a +mysterious female." It is in his _Literary History of Ireland_.' + +'Pray let us hear the poem, Mr. Merton,' said Miss Macrae, attuned to the +charm of the hour and the scene. + +'She came to Bran's Court,' said Blake, 'from the Isle of Apples, and no +man knew whence she came, and she chanted to them.' + +'Twenty-eight quatrains, no less, a hundred and twelve lines,' said the +insufferable Merton. 'Could you give us them in Gaelic?' + +The bard went on, not noticing the interruption, 'I shall translate + + 'There is a distant isle + Around which sea horses glisten, + A fair course against the white swelling surge, + Four feet uphold it.' + + 'Feet of white bronze under it.' + +'White bronze, what's that, eh?' asked the practical Mr. Macrae. + + 'Glittering through beautiful ages! + Lovely land through the world's age, + On which the white blossoms drop.' + +'Beautiful!' said Miss Macrae. + +'There are twenty-six more quatrains,' said Merton. + +The bard went on, + + 'A beautiful game, most delightful + They play--' + +'Ping-pong?' murmured Merton. + +'Hush!' said Lady Bude. + +Miss Macrae turned to the poet. + + 'They play, sitting at the luxurious wine, + Men and gentle women under a bush, + Without sin, without crime.' + +'They are playing still,' Blake added. 'Unbeheld, undisturbed! I verily +believe there is no Gael even now who would not in his heart of hearts +let drift by him the Elysiums of Virgil, Dante, and Milton, to grasp at +the Moy Mell, the Apple Isle, of the unknown Irish pagan! And then to +play sitting at the luxurious wine, + + 'Men and gentle women under a bush!' + +'It really cannot have been ping-pong that they played at, _sitting_. +Bridge, more likely,' said Merton. 'And "good wine needs no bush!"' + +The bard moved away, accompanied by his young hostess, who resented +Merton's cynicism + +'Tell me more of that lovely poem, Mr. Blake,' she said. + +'I am jangled and out of tune,' said Blake wildly. 'The Sassenach is my +torture! Let me take your hand, it is cool as the hands of the +foam-footed maidens of--of--what's the name of the place?' + +'Was it Clonmell?' asked Miss Macrae, letting him take her hand. + +He pressed it against his burning brow. + +'Though you laugh at me,' said Blake, 'sometimes you are kind! I am +upset--I hardly know myself. What is yonder shape skirting the lawn? Is +it the Daoine Sidh?' + +'Why do you call her "the downy she"? She is no more artful than other +people. She is my maid, Elspeth Mackay,' answered Miss Macrae, puzzled. +They were alone, separated from the others by the breadth of the roof. + +'I said the _Daoine Sidh_,' replied the poet, spelling the words. 'It +means the People of Peace.' + +'Quakers?' + +'No, the fairies,' groaned the misunderstood bard. 'Do you know nothing +of your ancestral tongue? Do you call yourself a Gael?' + +'Of course I call myself a girl,' answered Miss Macrae. 'Do you want me +to call myself a young lady?' + +The poet sighed. 'I thought _you_ understood me,' he said. 'Ah, how to +escape, how to reach the undiscovered West!' + +'But Columbus discovered it,' said Miss Macrae. + +'The undiscovered West of the Celtic heart's desire,' explained the bard; +'the West below the waters! Thither could we twain sail in the magic +boat of Bran! Ah see, the sky opens like a flower!' + +Indeed, there was a sudden glow of summer lightning. + +'That looks more like rain,' said Merton, who was standing with the Budes +at an opposite corner of the roof. + +'I say, Merton,' asked Bude, 'how can you be so uncivil to that man? He +took it very well.' + +'A rotter,' said Merton. 'He has just got that stuff by heart, the verse +and a lot of the prose, out of a book that I brought down myself, and +left in the smoking-room. I can show you the place if you like.' + +'Do, Mr. Merton. But how foolish you are! _do_ be civil to the man,' +whispered Lady Bude, who shared his disbelief in Blake; and at that +moment the tinkle of an electric bell in the smoking-room below reached +the expectant ears of Mr. Macrae. + +'Come down, all of you,' he said. 'The wireless telegraphy is at work.' + +He waited till they were all in the smoking-room, and feverishly examined +the tape. + +'Escape of De Wet,' he read. 'Disasters to the Imperial Yeomanry. Strike +of Cigarette Makers. Great Fire at Hackney.' + +'There!' he exclaimed triumphantly. 'We might have gone to bed in +London, and not known all that till we got the morning papers to-morrow. +And here we are fifty miles from a railway station or a telegraph +office--no, we're nearer Inchnadampf.' + +'Would that I were in the Isle of Apples, Mell Moy, far, far from +civilisation!' said Blake. + +"There shall be no grief there or sorrow," so sings the minstrel of _The +Wooing of Etain_. + +"Fresh flesh of swine, banquets of new milk and ale shalt thou have with +me then, fair lady," Merton read out from the book he had been speaking +of to the Budes. + +'Jolly place, the Celtic Paradise! Fresh flesh of swine, banquets of ale +and new milk. _Quel luxe_!' + +'Is that the kind of entertainment you were offering me, Mr. Blake?' +asked Miss Macrae gaily. 'Mr. Blake,' she went on, 'has been inviting me +to fly to the undiscovered West beneath the waters, in the magic boat of +Bran.' + +'Did Bran invent the submarine?' asked Mr. Macrae, and then the company +saw what they had never seen before, the bard blushing. He seemed so +discomposed that Miss Macrae took compassion on him. + +'Never mind my father, Mr. Blake,' she said, 'he is a very good +Highlander, and believes in Eachain of the Hairy Arm as much as the +crofters do. Have you heard of Eachain, Mr. Blake? He is a spectre in +full Highland costume, attached to our clan. When we came here first, to +look round, we had only horses hired from Edinburgh, and a Lowlander--mark +you, a _Lowlander_--to drive. He was in the stable one afternoon--the +old stable, we have pulled it down--when suddenly the horses began to +kick and rear. He looked round to the open door, and there stood a huge +Highlander in our tartans, with musket, pistols, claymore, dirk, skian, +and all, and soft brogues of untanned leather on his feet. The coachman, +in a panic, made a blind rush at the figure, but behold, there was +nobody, and a boy outside had seen no man. The horses were trembling and +foaming. Now it was a Lowlander from Teviotdale that saw the man, and +the crofters were delighted. They said the figure was the chief that +fell at Culloden, come to welcome us back. So you must not despair of +us, Mr. Blake, and you, that have "the sight," may see Eachain yourself, +who knows?' + +This happy turn of the conversation exactly suited Blake. He began to be +very amusing about magic, and brownies, and 'the downy she,' as Miss +Macrae called the People of Peace. The ladies presently declared that +they were afraid to go to bed; so they went, Miss Macrae indicating her +displeasure to Merton by the coldness of her demeanour. + +The men, who were rather dashed by the pleasant intelligence which the +telegraph had communicated, sat up smoking for a while, and then retired +in a subdued state of mind. + +Next morning, which was Sunday, Merton appeared rather late at breakfast, +late and pallid. After a snatch of disturbed slumber, he had wakened, or +seemed to waken, fretting a good deal over the rusticity of his bearing +towards Blake, and over his hopeless affair of the heart. He had vexed +his lady. 'If he is good enough for his hosts, he ought to be good +enough for their guests,' thought Merton. 'What a brute, what a fool I +am; I ought to go. I will go! I ought not to take coffee after dinner, +I know I ought not, and I smoke too much,' he added, and finally he went +to breathe the air on the roof. + +The night was deadly soft and still, a slight mist hid the furthest +verges of the sea's horizon. Behind it, the summer lightning seemed like +portals that opened and shut in the heavens, revealing a glory without +form, and closing again. + +'I don't wonder that these Irish poets dreamed of Isles of Paradise out +there: + + 'Lands undiscoverable in the unheard-of West, + Round which the strong stream of a sacred sea + Runs without wind for ever.' + +thought Merton. 'Chicago is the realisation of their dream. Hullo, +there are the lights of a big steamer, and a very low one behind it! +Queer craft!' + +Merton watched the lights that crossed the sea, when either the haze +deepened or the fainter light on the smaller vessel vanished, and the +larger ship steamed on in a southerly direction. 'Magic boat of Bran!' +thought Merton. He turned and entered the staircase to go back to his +room. There was a lift, of course, but, equally of course, there was +nobody to manage it. Merton, who had a lighted bedroom-candle in his +hand, descended the spiral staircase; at a turning he thought he saw, +'with the tail of his eye,' a plaid, draping a tall figure of a +Highlander, disappear round the corner. Nobody in the castle wore the +kilt except the piper, and he had not rooms in the observatory. Merton +ran down as fast as he could, but he did not catch another view of the +plaid and its wearer, or hear any footsteps. He went to the bottom of +the staircase, opened the outer door, and looked forth. Nobody! The +electric light from the open door of his own room blazed across the +landing on his return. All was perfectly still, and Merton remembered +that he had not heard the footsteps of the appearance. 'Was it Eachain?' +he asked himself. 'Do I sleep, do I dream?' + +He went back to bed and slumbered uneasily. He seemed to be awake in his +room, in broad light, and to hear a slow drip, drip, on the floor. He +looked up; the roof was stained with a great dark splash of a crimson +hue. He got out of bed, and touched the wet spot on the floor under the +blotch on the ceiling. + +His fingers were reddened with blood! He woke at the horror of it: found +himself in bed in the dark, pressed an electric knob, and looked at the +ceiling. It was dry and white. 'I certainly have been smoking too much +lately,' thought Merton, and, switching off the light, he slumbered +again, so soundly that he did not hear the piper playing round the house, +or the man who brought his clothes and hot water, or the gong for +breakfast. + +When he did wake, he was surprised at the lateness of the hour, and +dressed as rapidly as possible. 'I wonder if I was dreaming when I +thought that I went out on the roof, and saw mountains and marvels,' said +Merton to himself. 'A queer thing, the human mind,' he reflected sagely. +It occurred to him to enter the smoking-room on his way downstairs. He +routed two maids who perhaps had slept too late, and were hurriedly +making the room tidy. The sun was beating in at the window, and Merton +noticed some tiny glittering points of white metallic light on the carpet +near the new telegraphic apparatus. 'I don't believe these lazy Highland +Maries have swept the room properly since the electric machine was put +up,' Merton thought. He hastily seized, and took to his chamber, his +book on old Irish literature, which was too clearly part of Blake's +Celtic inspiration. Merton wanted no more quatrains, but he did mean to +try to be civil. He then joined the party at breakfast; he admitted that +he had slept ill, but, when asked by Blake, disclaimed having seen +Eachain of the Hairy Arm, and did not bore or bewilder the company with +his dreams. + +Miss Macrae, in sabbatical raiment, was fresher than a rose and gay as a +lark. Merton tried not to look at her; he failed in this endeavour. + + + +II. Lost + + +The day was Sunday, and Merton, who had a holy horror of news, rejoiced +to think that the telegraphic machine would probably not tinkle its bell +for twenty-four hours. This was not the ideal of the millionaire. Things +happen, intelligence arrives from the limits of our vast and desirable +empire, even on the Day of Rest. But the electric bell was silent. Mr. +Macrae, from patriotic motives, employed a Highland engineer and +mechanician, so there was nothing to be got out of him in the way of work +on the sabbath day. The millionaire himself did not quite understand how +to work the thing. He went to the smoking-room where it dwelt and looked +wistfully at it, but was afraid to try to call up his correspondents in +London. As for the usual manipulator, Donald McDonald, he had started +early for the distant Free Kirk. An 'Unionist' minister intended to try +to preach himself in, and the majority of the congregation, being of the +old Free Kirk rock, and averse to union with the United Presbyterians, +intended to try to keep him out. They 'had a lad with the gift who would +do the preaching fine,' and as there was no police-station within forty +miles it seemed fairly long odds on the Free Kirk recalcitrants. However, +there was a resolute minority of crofters on the side of the minister, +and every chance of an ecclesiastical battle royal. Accompanied by the +stalker, two keepers, and all the gardeners, armed with staves, the +engineer had early set out for the scene of brotherly amity, and Mr. +Macrae had reluctantly to admit that he was cut off from his +communications. + +Merton, who was with him in the smoking-room, mentally absolved the +Highland housemaids. If they had not swept up the tiny glittering +metallic points on the carpet before, they had done so now. Only two or +three caught his eye. + +Mr. Macrae, avid of news, accommodated himself in an arm-chair with +newspapers of two or three days old, from which he had already sucked the +heart by aid of his infernal machine. The Budes and Blake, with Miss +Macrae (an Anglican), had set off to walk to the Catholic chapel, some +four miles away, for crofting opinion was resolute against driving on the +Lord's Day. Merton, self-denying and resolved, did not accompany his +lady; he read a novel, wrote letters, and felt desolate. All was peace, +all breathed of the Sabbath calm. + +'Very odd there's no call from the machine,' said Mr. Macrae anxiously. + +'It is Sunday,' said Merton. + +'Still, they might send us something.' + +'They scarcely favoured us last Sunday,' said Merton. + +'No, and now I think of it, not at all on the Sunday before,' said Mr. +Macrae. 'I dare say it is all right.' + +'Would a thunder-storm further south derange it?' asked Merton, adding, +'There was a lot of summer lightning last night.' + +'That might be it; these things have their tempers. But they are a great +comfort. I can't think how we ever did without them,' said Mr. Macrae, +as if these things were common in every cottage. 'Wonderful thing, +science!' he added, in an original way, and Merton, who privately +detested science, admitted that it was so. + +'Shall we go to see the horses?' suggested Mr. Macrae, and they did go +and stare, as is usual on Sunday in the country, at the hind-quarters of +these noble animals. Merton strove to be as much interested as possible +in Mr. Macrae's stories of his fleet American trotters. But his heart +was otherwhere. 'They will soon be an extinct species,' said Mr. Macrae. +'The motor has come to stay.' + +Merton was not feeling very well, he was afraid of a cigarette, Mr. +Macrae's conversation was not brilliant, and Merton still felt as if he +were under the wrath, so well deserved, of his hostess. She did not +usually go to the Catholic chapel; to be sure, in the conditions +prevailing at the Free Kirk place of worship, she had no alternative if +she would not abstain wholly from religious privileges. But Merton felt +sure that she had really gone to comfort and console the injured feelings +of Blake. Probably she would have had a little court of lordlings, +Merton reflected (not that Mr. Macrae had any taste for them), but +everybody knew that, what with the weather, and the crofters, and the +grouse disease, the sport at Castle Skrae was remarkably bad. So the +party was tiny, though a number of people were expected later, and Merton +and the heiress had been on what, as he ruefully reflected, were very +kind terms--rather more than kind, he had hoped, or feared, now and then. +Merton saw that he had annoyed her, and thrown her, metaphorically +speaking, into the arms of the Irish minstrel. All the better, perhaps, +he thought, ruefully. The poet was handsome enough to be one that +'limners loved to paint, and ladies to look upon.' He generally took +chaff well, and could give it, as well as take it, and there were hours +when his sentiment and witchery had a chance with most women. 'But Lady +Bude says there is nothing in it, and women usually know,' he reflected. +Well, he must leave the girl, and save his self-respect. + +When nothing more in the way of pottering could be done at the stables, +when its proprietor had exhausted the pleasure of staring at the balloon +in its hall, and had fed the fowls, he walked with Merton down the +avenue, above the shrunken burn that whispered among its ferns and +alders, to meet the returning church-goers. The Budes came first, +together; they were still, they were always, honeymooning. Mr. Macrae +turned back with Lady Bude; Merton walked with Bude, Blake and Miss +Macrae were not yet in sight. He thought of walking on to meet them--but +no, it must not be. + +'Blake owes you a rare candle, Merton,' said Bude, adding, 'A great deal +may be done, or said, in a long walk by a young man with his advantages. +And if you had not had your knife in him last night I do not think she +would have accompanied us this morning to attend the ministrations of +Father McColl. He preached in Gaelic.' + +'That must have been edifying,' said Merton, wincing. + +'The effect, when one does not know the language, and is within six feet +of an energetic Celt in the pulpit, is rather odd,' said Bude. 'But you +have put your foot in it, not a doubt of that.' + +This appeared only too probable. The laggards arrived late for luncheon, +and after luncheon Miss Macrae allowed Blake to read his manuscript poems +to her in the hall, and to discuss the prospects of the Celtic drama. +Afterwards, fearing to hurt the religious sentiments of the Highland +servants by playing ping-pong on Sunday in the hall, she instructed him +elsewhere, and clandestinely, in that pastime till the hour of tea +arrived. + +Merton did not appear at the tea-table. Tired of this Castle of +Indolence, loathing Blake, afraid of more talk with Lady Bude, eating his +own heart, he had started alone after luncheon for a long walk round the +loch. The day had darkened, and was deadly still; the water was like a +mirror of leaden hue; the air heavy and sulphurous. + +These atmospheric phenomena did not gladden the heart of Merton. He knew +that rain was coming, but he would not be with _her_ by the foaming +stream, or on the black waves of the loch. Climbing to the top of the +hill, he felt sure that a storm was at hand. On the east, far away, +Clibrig, and Suilvean of the double peak, and the round top of Ben More, +stood shadowy above the plain against the lurid light. Over the sea hung +'the ragged rims of thunder' far away, veiling in thin shadow the +outermost isles, whose mountain crests looked dark as indigo. A few hot +heavy drops of rain were falling as Merton began to descend. He was +soaked to the skin when he reached the door of the observatory, and +rushed up stairs to dress for dinner. A covered way led from the +observatory to the Castle, so that he did not get drenched again on his +return, which he accomplished punctually as the gong for dinner sounded. + +In the drawing-room were the Budes, and Mr. Macrae was nervously pacing +the length and breadth of the room. + +'They must have taken refuge from the rain somewhere,' Lady Bude was +saying, and 'they' were obviously Blake and the daughter of the house. +Where were they? Merton's heart sank with a foolish foreboding. + +'I know,' the lady went on, 'that they were only going down to the +cove--where you and I were yesterday evening, Mr. Merton. It is no +distance.' + +'A mile and a half is a good deal in this weather, said Merton, 'and +there is no cottage on this side of the sea loch. But they must have +taken shelter,' he added; he must not seem anxious. + +At this moment came a flash of lightning, followed by a crack like that +of a cosmic whip-lash, and a long reverberating roar of thunder. + +'It is most foolish to have stayed out so late,' said Mr. Macrae. 'Any +one could see that a storm was coming. I told them so, I am really +annoyed.' + +Every one was silent, the rain fell straight and steady, the gravel in +front of the window was a series of little lakes, pale and chill in the +wan twilight. + +'I really think I must send a couple of men down with cloaks and +umbrellas,' said the nervous father, pressing an electric knob. + +The butler appeared. + +'Are Donald and Sandy and Murdoch about?' asked Mr. Macrae. + +'Not returned from church, sir;' said the butler. + +'There was likely to be a row at the Free Kirk,' said Mr. Macrae, +absently. + +'You must go yourself, Benson, with Archibald and James. Take cloaks and +umbrellas, and hurry down towards the cove. Mr. Blake and Miss Macrae +have probably found shelter on the way somewhere.' + +The butler answered, 'Yes, sir;' but he cannot have been very well +pleased with his errand. Merton wanted to offer to go, anything to be +occupied; but Bude said nothing, and so Merton did not speak. + +The four in the drawing-room sat chatting nervously: 'There was nothing +of course to be anxious about,' they told each other. The bolt of heaven +never strikes the daughters of millionaires; Miss Macrae was indifferent +to a wetting, and nobody cared tremulously about Blake. Indeed the words +'confound the fellow' were in the minds of the three men. + +The evening darkened rapidly, the minutes lagged by, the clock chimed the +half-hour, three-quarters, nine o'clock. + +Mr. Macrae was manifestly growing more and more nervous, Merton forgot to +grow more and more hungry. His tongue felt dry and hard; he was afraid +of he knew not what, but he bravely tried to make talk with Lady Bude. + +The door opened, letting the blaze of electric light from the hall into +the darkling room. They all turned eagerly towards the door. It was +only one of the servants. Merton's heart felt like lead. 'Mr. Benson +has returned, sir; he would be glad if he might speak to you for a +moment.' + +'Where is he?' asked Mr. Macrae. + +'At the outer door, sir, in the porch. He is very wet.' + +Mr. Macrae went out; the others found little to say to each other. + +'Very awkward,' muttered Bude. 'They cannot have been climbing the +cliffs, surely.' + +'The bridge is far above the highest water-mark of the burn, in case they +crossed the water,' said Merton. + +Lady Bude was silent. + +Mr. Macrae returned. 'Benson has come back,' he said, 'to say that he +can find no trace of them. The other men are still searching.' + +'Can they have had themselves ferried across the sea loch to the village +opposite?' asked Merton. + +'Emmiline had not the key of our boat,' said Mr. Macrae, 'I have made +sure of that; and not a man in the village would launch a boat on +Sunday.' + +'We must go and help to search for them,' said Merton; he only wished to +be doing something, anything. + +'I shall not be a minute in changing my dress.' + +Bude also volunteered, and in a few minutes, having drunk a glass of wine +and eaten a crust of bread, they and Mr. Macrae were hurrying towards the +cove. The storm was passing; by the time when they reached the sea-side +there were rifts of clear light in the sky above them. They had walked +rapidly and silently, the swollen stream roaring beneath them. It had +rained torrents in the hills. There was nothing to be said, but the mind +of each man was busy with the gloomiest conjectures. These had to be far- +fetched, for in a country so thinly peopled, and so honest and friendly, +within a couple of miles at most from home, on a Sunday evening, what +conceivable harm could befall a man and a maid? + +'Can we trust the man?' was in Merton's mind. 'If they have been ferried +across to the village, they would have set out to return before now,' he +said aloud; but there was no boat on the faint silver of the sea loch. +'The cliffs are the likeliest place for an accident, if there _was_ an +accident,' he considered, with a pang. The cliffs might have tempted the +light-footed girl. In fancy he saw her huddled, a ghastly heap, the +faint wind fluttering the folds of her dress, at the bottom of the rocks. +She had been wearing a long skirt, not her wont in the Highlands; it +would be dangerous to climb in that; she might have forgotten, climbed, +and caught her foot, and fallen. + +'Blake may have snatched at her, and been dragged down with her,' Merton +thought. All the horrid fancies of keen anxiety flitted across his +mind's eye. He paused, and made an effort over himself. There _must_ be +some other harmless explanation, an adventure to laugh at--for Blake and +the girl. Poor comfort, that! + +The men who had been searching were scattered about the sides of the +cove, and, distinguishing the new-comers, gathered towards them. + +'No,' they said, 'they had found nothing except a little book that seemed +to belong to Mr. Blake.' + +It had been discovered near the place where Merton and Lady Bude were +sitting on the previous evening. When found it was lying open, face +downwards. In the faint light Merton could see that the book was full of +manuscript poems, the lines all blotted and run together by the tropical +rain. He thrust it into the pocket of his ulster. + +Merton took the most intelligent of the gillies aside. 'Show me where +you have searched,' he said. The man pointed to the shores of the cove; +they had also examined the banks of the burn, and under all the trees, +clearly fearing that the lost pair might have been lightning-struck, like +the nymph and swain in Pope's poem. 'You have not searched the cliffs?' +asked Merton. + +'No, sir,' said the man. + +Merton then went to Mr. Macrae, and suggested that the boat should be +sent across the sea ferry, to try if anything could be learned in the +village. Mr. Macrae agreed, and himself went in the boat, which was +presently unmoored, and pulled by two gillies across the loch, that ran +like a river with the outgoing tide. + +Merton and Bude began to search the cliffs; Merton could hear the hoarse +pumping of his own heart. The cliff's base was deep in flags and +bracken, then the rocks began climbing to the foot of the perpendicular +basaltic crag. The sky, fortunately, was now clear in the west, and lent +a wan light to the seekers. Merton had almost reached the base of the +cliff, when, in the deep bracken, he stumbled over something soft. He +stooped and held back the tall fronds of bracken. + +It was the body of a man; the body did not stir. Merton glanced to see +the face, but the face was bent round, leaning half on the earth. It was +Blake. Merton's guess seemed true. They had fallen from the cliffs! But +where was that other body? Merton yelled to Bude. Blake seemed dead or +insensible. + +Merton (he was ashamed of it presently) left the body of Blake alone; he +plunged wildly in and out of the bracken, still shouting to Bude, and +looking for that which he feared to find. She could not be far off. He +stumbled over rocks, into rabbit holes, he dived among the soaked +bracken. Below and around he hunted, feverishly panting, then he set his +face to the sheer cliff, to climb; she might be lying on some higher +ledge, the shadow on the rocks was dark. At this moment Bude hailed him. + +'Come down!' he cried, 'she cannot be there!' + +'Why not?' he gasped, arriving at the side of Bude, who was stooping, +with a lantern in his hand, over the body of Blake, which faintly +stirred. + +'Look!' said Bude, lowering the lantern. + +Then Merton saw that Blake's hands were bound down beside his body, and +that the cords were fastened by pegs to the ground. His feet were +fastened in the same way, and his mouth was stuffed full of wet seaweed. +Bude pulled out the improvised gag, cut the ropes, turned the face +upwards, and carefully dropped a little whisky from his flask into the +mouth. Blake opened his eyes. + +'Where are my poems?' he asked. + +'Where is Miss Macrae?' shrieked Merton in agony. + +'Damn the midges,' said Blake (his face was hardly recognisable from +their bites). 'Oh, damn them all!' He had fainted again. + +'She has been carried off,' groaned Merton. Bude and he did all that +they knew for poor Blake. They rubbed his ankles and wrists, they +administered more whisky, and finally got him to sit up. He scratched +his hands over his face and moaned, but at last he recovered full +consciousness. No sense could be extracted from him, and, as the boat +was now visible on its homeward track, Bude and Merton carried him down +to the cove, anxiously waiting Mr. Macrae. + +He leaped ashore. + +'Have you heard anything?' asked Bude. + +'They saw a boat on the loch about seven o'clock,' said Mr. Macrae, +'coming from the head of it, touching here, and then pulling west, round +the cliff. They thought the crew Sabbath-breakers from the lodge at Alt +Garbh. What's that,' he cried, at last seeing Blake, who lay supported +against a rock, his eyes shut. + +Merton rapidly explained. + +'It is as I thought,' said Mr. Macrae resolutely. 'I knew it from the +first. They have kidnapped her for a ransom. Let us go home.' + +Merton and Bude were silent; they, too, had guessed, as soon as they +discovered Blake. The girl was her father's very life, and they admired +his resolution, his silence. A gate was taken from its hinges, cloaks +were strewn on it, and Blake was laid on this ambulance. + +Merton ventured to speak. + +'May I take your boat, sir, across to the ferry, and send the fishermen +from the village to search each end of the loch on their side? It is +after midnight,' he added grimly. 'They will not refuse to go; it is +Monday.' + +'I will accompany them,' said Bude, 'with your leave, Mr. Macrae, Merton +can search our side of the loch, he can borrow another boat at the +village in addition to yours. You, at the Castle, can organise the +measures for to-morrow.' + +'Thank you both,' said Mr. Macrae. 'I should have thought of that. Thank +you, Mr. Merton, for the idea. I am a little dazed. There is the key of +the boat.' + +Merton snatched it, and ran, followed by Bude and four gillies, to the +little pier where the boat was moored. He must be doing something for +her, or go mad. The six men crowded into the boat, and pulled swiftly +away, Merton taking the stroke oar. Meanwhile Blake was carried by four +gillies towards the Castle, the men talking low to each other in Gaelic. +Mr. Macrae walked silently in front. + +Such was the mournful procession that Lady Bude ran out to meet. She +passed Mr. Macrae, whose face was set with an expression of deadly rage, +and looked for Bude. He was not there, a gillie told her what they knew, +and, with a convulsive sob, she followed Mr. Macrae into the Castle. + +'Mr. Blake must be taken to his room,' said Mr. Macrae. 'Benson, bring +something to eat and drink. Lady Bude, I deeply regret that this thing +should have troubled your stay with me. She has been carried off, Mr. +Blake has been rendered unconscious; your husband and Mr. Merton are +trying nobly to find the track of the miscreants. You will excuse me, I +must see to Mr. Blake.' + +Mr. Macrae rose, bowed, and went out. He saw Blake carried to a bathroom +in the observatory; they undressed him and put him in the hot water. Then +they put him to bed, and brought him wine and food. He drank the wine +eagerly. + +'We were set on suddenly from behind by fellows from a boat,' he said. +'We saw them land and go up from the cove; they took us in the rear: they +felled me and pegged me out. Have you my poems?' + +'Mr. Merton has the poems,' said Mr. Macrae. 'What became of my +daughter?' + +'I don't know, I was unconscious.' + +'What kind of boat was it?' + +'An ordinary coble, a country boat.' + +'What kind of looking men were they?' + +'Rough fellows with beards. I only saw them when they first passed us at +some distance. Oh, my head! Oh damn, how these bites do sting! Get me +some ammonia; you'll find it in a bottle on the dressing-table.' + +Mr. Macrae brought him the bottle and a handkerchief. 'That is all you +know?' he asked. + +But Blake was babbling some confusion of verse and prose: his wits were +wandering. + +Mr. Macrae turned from him, and bade one of the men watch him. He +himself passed downstairs and into the hall, where Lady Bude was standing +at the window, gazing to the north. + +'Indeed you must not watch, Lady Bude,' said the millionaire. 'Let me +persuade you to take something and go to bed. I forget myself; I do not +believe that you have dined.' He himself sat down at the table, he ate +and drank, and induced Lady Bude to join him. 'Now, do let me persuade +you to go back and to try to sleep,' said Mr. Macrae gently. 'Your +husband is well accompanied.' + +'It is not for him that I am afraid,' said the lady, who was in tears. + +'I must arrange for the day's work,' said the millionaire, and Lady Bude +sighed and left him. + +'First,' he said aloud, 'we must get the doctor from Lairg to see Blake. +Over forty miles.' He rang. 'Benson,' he said to the butler, 'order the +tandem for seven. The yacht to have steam up at the same hour. Breakfast +at half-past six.' + +The millionaire then went to his own study, where he sat lost in thought. +Morning had come before the sound of voices below informed him that Bude +and Merton had returned. He hurried down; their faces told him all. +'Nothing?' he asked calmly. + +Nothing! They had rowed along the loch sides, touching at every cottage +and landing-place. They had learned nothing. He explained his ideas for +the day. + +'If you will allow me to go in the yacht, I can telegraph from Lochinver +in all directions to the police,' said Bude. + +'We can use the wireless thing,' said Mr. Macrae. 'But if you would be +so good, you could at least see the local police, and if anything +occurred to you, telegraph in the ordinary way.' + +'Right,' said Bude, 'I shall now take a bath.' + +'You will stay with me, Mr. Merton,' said Mr. Macrae. + +'It is a dreadful country for men in our position,' said Merton, for the +sake of saying something. 'Police and everything so remote.' + +'It gave them their chance; they have waited for it long enough, I dare +say. Have you any ideas?' + +'They must have a steamer somewhere.' + +'That is why I have ordered the balloon, to reconnoitre the sea from,' +said Mr. Macrae. 'But they have had all the night to escape in. I think +they will take her to America, to some rascally southern republic, +probably.' + +'I have thought of the outer islands,' said Merton, 'out behind the Lewis +and the Long Island.' + +'We shall have them searched,' said Mr. Macrae. 'I can think of no more +at present, and you are tired.' + +Merton had slept ill and strangely on the night of Saturday; on Sunday +night, of course, he had never lain down. Unshaven, dirty, with haggard +eyes, he looked as wretched as he felt. + +'I shall have a bath, and then please employ me, it does not matter on +what, as long as I am at work for--you,' said Merton. He had nearly said +'for her.' + +Mr. Macrae looked at him rather curiously. 'You are dying of fatigue,' +he said. 'All your ideas have been excellent, but I cannot let you kill +yourself. Ideas are what I want. You must stay with me to-day: I shall +be communicating with London and other centres by the Giambresi machine; +I shall need your advice, your suggestions. Now, do go to bed: you shall +be called if you are needed.' + +He wrung Merton's hand, and Merton crept up to his bedroom. He took a +bath, turned in, and was wrapped in all the blessedness of sleep. + +Before five o'clock the house was astir. Bude, in the yacht, steamed +down the coast, touching at Lochinver, and wherever there seemed a faint +hope of finding intelligence. But he learned nothing. Yachts and other +vessels came and went (on Sundays, of course, more seldom), and if the +heiress had been taken straight to sea, northwards or west, round the +Butt of Lewis, by night, there could be no chance of news of her. +Returning, Bude learned that the local search parties had found nothing +but the black ashes of a burned boat in a creek on the south side of the +cliffs. There the captors of Miss Macrae must have touched, burned their +coble, and taken to some larger and fleeter vessel. But no such vessel +had been seen by shepherd, fisher, keeper, or gillie. The grooms arrived +from Lairg, in the tandem, with the doctor and a rural policeman. Bude +had telegraphed to Scotland Yard from Lochinver for detectives, and to +Glasgow, Oban, Tobermory, Salen, in fact to every place he thought +likely, with minute particulars of Miss Macrae's appearance and dress. +All this Merton learned from Bude, when, long after luncheon time, our +hero awoke suddenly, refreshed in body, but with the ghastly blank of +misery and doubt before the eyes of his mind. + +'I wired,' said Bude, 'on the off chance that yesterday's storm might +have deranged the wireless machine, and, by Jove, it is lucky I did. The +wireless machine won't work, not a word of message has come through; it +is jammed or something. I met Donald Macdonald, who told me.' + +'Have you seen our host yet?' + +'No,' said Bude, 'I was just going to him.' + +They found the millionaire seated at a table, his head in his hands. On +their approach he roused himself. + +'Any news?' he asked Bude, who shook his head. He explained how he had +himself sent various telegrams, and Mr. Macrae thanked him. + +'You did well,' he said. 'Some electric disturbance has cut us off from +our London correspondent. We sent messages in the usual way, but there +has been no reply. You sent to Scotland Yard for detectives, I think you +said?' + +'I did.' + +'But, unluckily, what can London detectives do in a country like this?' +said Mr. Macrae. + +'I told them to send one who had the Gaelic,' said Bude. + +'It was well thought of,' said Mr. Macrae, 'but this was no local job. +Every man for miles round has been examined, and accounted for.' + +'I hope you have slept well, Mr. Merton?' he asked. + +'Excellently. Can you not put me on some work if it is only to copy +telegraphic despatches? But, by the way, how is Blake?' + +'The doctor is still with him,' said Mr. Macrae; 'a case of concussion of +the brain, he says it is. But you go out and take the air, you must be +careful of yourself.' + +Bude remained with the millionaire, Merton sauntered out to look at the +river: running water drew him like a magnet. By the side of the stream, +on a woodland path, he met Lady Bude. She took his hand silently in her +right, and patted it with her left. Merton turned his head away. + +'What can I say to you?' she asked. 'Oh, this is too horrible, too +cruel.' + +'If I had listened to you and not irritated her I might have been with +her, not Blake,' said Merton, with keen self-respect. + +'I don't quite see that you would be any the better for concussion of the +brain,' said Lady Bude, smiling. 'Oh, Mr. Merton, you _must_ find her, I +know how you have worked already. You must rescue her. Consider, this +is your chance, this is your opportunity to do something great. Take +courage!' + +Merton answered, with a rather watery smile, 'If I had Logan with me.' + +'With or without Lord Fastcastle, you _must do it_!' said Lady Bude. + +They saw Mr. Macrae approaching them deep in thought and advanced to meet +him. + +'Mr. Macrae,' asked Lady Bude suddenly, 'have you had Donald with you +long?' + +'Ever since he was a lad in Canada,' answered the millionaire. 'I have +every confidence in Donald's ability, and he was for half a year with +Gianesi and Giambresi, learning to work their system.' + +Donald's honesty, it was clear, he never dreamed of suspecting. Merton +blushed, as he remembered that a doubt as to whether the engineer had +been 'got at' had occurred to his own mind. For a heavy bribe (Merton +had fancied) Donald might have been induced, perhaps by some Stock +Exchange operator, to tamper with the wireless centre of communication. +But, from Mr. Macrae's perfect confidence, he felt obliged to drop this +attractive hypothesis. + +They dined at the usual hour, and not long after dinner Lady Bude said +good-night, while her lord, who was very tired, soon followed her +example. Merton and the millionaire paid a visit to Blake, whom they +found asleep, and the doctor, having taken supper and accepted an +invitation to stay all night, joined the two other men in the smoking- +room. In answer to inquiries about the patient, Dr. MacTavish said, +'It's jist concussion, slight concussion, and nervous shoke. No that +muckle the maiter wi' him but a clour on the hairnspan, and midge bites, +forbye the disagreeableness o' being clamped doon for a wheen hours in a +wat tussock o' bracken.' + +This diagnosis, though not perfectly intelligible to Merton, seemed to +reassure Mr. Macrae. + +'He's a bit concetty, the chiel,' added the worthy physician, 'and it may +be a day or twa or he judges he can leave his bed. Jist nervous +collapse. But, bless my soul, what's thon?' + +'Thon' had brought Mr. Macrae to his feet with a bound. It was the +thrill of the electric bell which preluded to communications from the +wireless communicator! The instrument began to tick, and to emit its +inscribed tape. + +'Thank heaven,' cried the millionaire, 'now we shall have light on this +mystery.' He read the message, stamped his foot with an awful +execration, and then, recovering himself, handed the document to Merton. +'The message is a disgusting practical joke,' he said. 'Some one at the +central agency is playing tricks with the instrument.' + +'Am I to read the message aloud?' asked Merton. + +It was rather a difficult question, for the doctor was a perfect stranger +to all present, and the matters involved were of an intimate delicacy, +affecting the most sacred domestic relations. + +'Dr. MacTavish,' said Mr. Macrae, 'speaking as Highlander to Highlander, +these are circumstances, are they not, under the seal of professional +confidence?' + +The big doctor rose to his feet. + +'They are, sir, but, Mr. Macrae, I am a married man. This sad business +of yours, I say it with sorrow, will be the talk of the world to-morrow, +as it is of the country side to-day. If you will excuse me, I would +rather know nothing, and be able to tell nothing, so I'll take my pipe +outside with me.' + +'Not alone, don't go alone, Dr. MacTavish,' said Merton; 'Mr. Macrae will +need his telegraphic operator probably. Let me play you a hundred up at +billiards.' + +The doctor liked nothing better; soon the balls were rattling, while the +millionaire was closeted alone with Donald Macdonald and the wireless +thing. + +After one game, of which he was the winner, the doctor, with much +delicacy, asked leave to go to bed. Merton conducted him to his room, +and, returning, was hailed by Mr. Macrae. + +'Here is the pleasant result of our communications,' he said, reading +aloud the message which he had first received. + + 'The Seven Hunters. August 9, 7.47 p.m. + + 'Do not be anxious about Miss Macrae. She is in perfect health, and + accompanied by three chaperons accustomed to move in the first + circles. The one question is How Much? Sorry to be abrupt, but the + sooner the affair is satisfactorily concluded the better. A reply + through your Gianesi machine will reach us, and will meet with prompt + attention.' + +'A practical joke,' said Merton. 'The melancholy news has reached town +through Bude's telegrams, and somebody at the depot is playing tricks +with the instrument.' + +'I have used the instrument to communicate that opinion to the +manufacturers,' said Mr. Macrae, 'but I have had no reply.' + +'What does the jester mean by heading his communication "The Seven +Hunters"?' asked Merton. + +'The name of a real or imaginary public-house, I suppose,' said Mr. +Macrae. + +At this moment the electric bell gave its signal, and the tape began to +exude. Mr. Macrae read the message aloud; it ran thus: + +'No good wiring to Gianesi and Giambresi at headquarters. You are +hitched on to us, and to nobody else. Better climb down. What are your +terms?' + +'This is infuriating,' said Mr. Macrae. 'It _must_ be a practical joke, +but how to reach the operators?' + +'Let me wire to-morrow by the old-fashioned way,' said Merton; 'I hear +that one need not go to Lairg to wire. One can do that from Inchnadampf, +much nearer. That is quicker than steaming to Loch Inver.' + +'Thank you very much, Mr. Merton; I must be here myself. You had better +take the motor--trouble dazes a man--I forgot the motor when I ordered +the tandem this morning.' + +'Very good,' said Merton. 'At what hour shall I start?' + +'We all need rest; let us say at ten o'clock.' + +'All right,' replied Merton. 'Now do, pray, try to get a good night of +sleep.' + +Mr. Macrae smiled wanly: 'I mean to force myself to read _Emma_, by Miss +Austen, till the desired effect is produced.' + +Merton went to bed, marvelling at the self-command of the millionaire. He +himself slept ill, absorbed in regret and darkling conjecture. + +After writing out several telegrams for Merton to carry, the smitten +victim of enormous opulence sought repose. But how vainly! Between him +and the pages which report the prosings of Miss Bates and Mr. Woodhouse +intruded visions of his daughter, a captive, perhaps crossing the +Atlantic, perhaps hidden, who knew, in a shieling or a cavern in the +untrodden wastes of Assynt or of Lord Reay's country. At last these +appearances were merged in sleep. + + + +III. Logan to the Rescue! + + +As Merton sped on the motor next day to the nearest telegraph station, +with Mr. Macrae's sheaf of despatches, Dr. MacTavish found him a very +dull companion. He named the lochs and hills, Quinag, Suilvean, Ben Mor, +he dwelt on the merits of the trout in the lochs; he showed the +melancholy improvements of the old Duke; he spoke of duchesses and of +crofters, of anglers and tourists; he pointed to the ruined castle of the +man who sold the great Montrose--or did not sell him. Merton was +irresponsive, trying to think. What was this mystery? Why did the +wireless machine bring no response from its headquarters; or how could +practical jokers have intruded into the secret chambers of Messrs. +Gianesi and Giambresi? These dreams or visions of his own on the night +before Miss Macrae was taken--were they wholly due to tobacco and the +liver? + +'I thought I was awake,' said Merton to himself, 'when I was only +dreaming about the crimson blot on the ceiling. Was I asleep when I saw +the tartans go down the stairs? I used to walk in my sleep as a boy. It +is very queer!' + +'Frae the top o' Ben Mor,' the doctor was saying, 'on a fine day, they +tell me, with a glass you can pick up "The Seven Hunters."' + +'Eh, what? I beg your pardon, I am so confused by this wretched affair. +What did you say you can pick up?' + +'Just "The Seven Hunters,"' said the doctor rather sulkily. + +'And what are "The Seven Hunters"?' + +'Just seven wee sma' islandies ahint the Butt of Lewis. The maps ca' +them the Flanan Islands.' + +Merton's heart gave a thump. The first message from the Gianesi +invention was dated 'The Seven Hunters.' Here was a clue. + +'Are the islands inhabited?' asked Merton. + +'Just wi' wild goats, and, maybe, fishers drying their fish. And three +men in a lighthouse on one of them,' said the doctor. + +They now rushed up to the hotel and telegraph office of Inchnadampf. The +doctor, after visiting the bar, went on in the motor to Lairg; it was to +return for Merton, who had business enough on hand in sending the +despatches. He was thinking over 'The Seven Hunters.' It might be, +probably was, a blind, or the kidnappers, having touched there, might +have departed in any direction--to Iceland, for what he knew. But the +name, 'the Seven Hunters,' was not likely to have been invented by a +practical joker in London. If not, the conspirators had really captured +and kept to themselves Mr. Macrae's line of wireless communications. How +could that have been done? Merton bitterly regretted that his general +information did not include electrical science. + +However, he had first to send the despatches. In one Mr. Macrae informed +Gianesi and Giambresi of the condition of their instrument, and bade them +send another at once with a skilled operator, and to look out for +probable tamperers in their own establishment. This despatch was in a +cypher which before he got the new invention, and while he used the old +wires, Mr. Macrae had arranged with the electricians. The words of the +despatch were, therefore, peculiar, and the Highland lass who operated, a +girl of great beauty and modesty, at first declined to transmit the +message. + +'It's maybe no proper, for a' that I ken,' she urged, and only by +invoking a local person of authority, and using the name of Mr. Macrae +very freely, could Merton obtain the transmission of the despatch. + +In another document Mr. Macrae ordered 'more motors' and a dozen +bicycles, as the Nabob of old ordered 'more curricles.' He also +telegraphed to the Home Office, the Admiralty, the Hereditary Lord High +Admiral of the West Coast, to Messrs. McBrain, of the steamers, and to +every one who might have any access to the control of marine police or +information. He wired to the police at New York, bidding them warn all +American stations, and to the leading New York newspapers, knowing the +energy and inquiring, if imaginative, character of their reporters. Bude +ought to have done all this on the previous day, but Bude's ideas were +limited. Nothing, however, was lost, as America is not reached in forty- +eight hours. The millionaire instructed Scotland Yard to warn all +foreign ports, and left them _carte-blanche_ as to the offer of a reward +for the discovery of his missing daughter. He also put off all the +guests whom he had been expecting at Castle Skrae. + +Merton was amazed at the energy and intelligence of a paternal mind +smitten by sudden grief. Mr. Macrae had even telegraphed to every London +newspaper, and to the leading Scottish and provincial journals, 'No +Interviewers need Apply.' Several hours were spent, as may be imagined, +in getting off these despatches from a Highland rural office, and Merton +tried to reward the fair operator. But she declined to accept a present +for doing her duty, and expressed lively sympathy for the poor young lady +who was lost. In a few days a diamond-studded watch and chain arrived +for Miss MacTurk. + +Merton himself wired to Logan, imploring him, in the name of friendship, +to abandon all engagements, and come to Inchnadampf. Where kidnapping +was concerned he knew that Logan must be interested, and might be useful; +but, of course, he could not invite him to Castle Skrae. Meanwhile he +secured rooms for Logan at the excellent inn. Lady Fastcastle, he knew, +was in England, brooding over her first-born, the Master of Fastcastle. + +Before these duties were performed the motor returned from Lairg, bearing +the two London detectives, one disguised as a gillie (he was the +detective who had the Gaelic), the other as a clergyman of the Church of +England. To Merton he whispered that he was to be an early friend of Mr. +Macrae, come to comfort him on the first news of his disaster. As to the +other, the gillie, Mr. Macrae was known to have been in want of an +assistant to the stalker, and Duncan Mackay (of Scotland Yard) had +accepted the situation. Merton approved of these arrangements; they were +such as he would himself have suggested. + +'But I don't see what we can do, sir,' said the clerical detective (the +Rev. Mr. Williams), 'except perhaps find out if it was a put up thing +from within.' + +Merton gave him a succinct sketch of the events, and he could see that +Mr. Williams already suspected Donald Macdonald, the engineer. Merton, +Mr. Williams, and the driver now got into the motor, and were followed by +the gillie-detective and a man to drive in a dog-cart hired from the inn. +Merton ordered all answers to telegrams to be sent by boys on bicycles. + +It was late ere he returned to Castle Skrae. There nothing of importance +had occurred, except the arrival of more messages from the wireless +machine. They insisted that Miss Macrae was in perfect health, but +implored the millionaire to settle instantly, lest anxiety for a father's +grief should undermine her constitution. + +Mr. Williams had a long interview with Mr. Macrae. It was arranged that +he should read family prayers in the morning and evening. He left _The +Church Quarterly Review_ and numbers of _The Expositor_, _The Guardian_, +and _The Pilot_ in the hall with his great coat, and on the whole his +entry was very well staged. Duncan Mackay occupied a room at the +keeper's, who had only eight children. + +Mr. Williams asked if he might see Mr. Blake; he could impart religious +consolation. Merton carried this message, in answer to which Blake, who +was in bed very sulky and sleepy, merely replied, 'Kick out the +hell-hound.' + +Merton was obliged to soften this rude message, saying that unfortunately +Mr. Blake was of the older faith, though he had expressed no wish for the +ministrations of Father McColl. + +On hearing this Mr. Williams merely sighed, as the Budes were present. He +had been informed as to their tenets, and had even expressed a desire to +labour for their enlightenment, by way of giving local colour. He had, +he said, some stirring Protestant tracts among his clerical properties. +Mr. Macrae, however, had gently curbed this zeal, so on hearing of +Blake's religious beliefs the sigh of Mr. Williams was delicately +subdued. + +Dinner-time arrived. Blake did not appear; the butler said that he +supported existence solely on dried toast and milk and soda-water. He +was one of the people who keep a private clinical thermometer, and he +sent the bulletin that his temperature was 103. He hoped to come +downstairs to-morrow. Mr. Williams gave the party some news of the outer +world. He had brought the _Scotsman_, and Mr. Macrae had the gloomy +satisfaction of reading a wildly inaccurate report of his misfortune. +Correct news had not reached the press, but deep sympathy was expressed. +The melancholy party soon broke up, Mr. Williams conducting family +prayers with much unction, after the Budes had withdrawn. + +In a private interview with the millionaire Merton told him how he had +discovered the real meaning of 'The Seven Hunters,' whence the first +telegram of the kidnappers was dated. Neither man thought the +circumstance very important. + +'They would hardly have ventured to name the islands if they had any idea +of staying there,' the millionaire said, 'besides any heartless jester +could find the name on a map.' + +This was obvious, but as Lady Bude was much to be pitied, alone, in the +circumstances, Mr. Macrae determined to send her and Bude on the yacht, +the _Flora Macdonald_, to cruise round the Butt of Lewis and examine the +islets. Both Bude and his wife were devoted to yachting, and the isles +might yield something in the way of natural history. + +Next day (Wednesday) the Budes steamed away, and there came many answers +to the telegrams of Mr. Macrae, and one from Logan to Merton. Logan was +hard by, cruising with his cousin, Admiral Chirnside, at the naval +manoeuvres on the northeast coast. He would come to Inchnadampf at once. +Mr. Macrae heard from Gianesi and Giambresi. Gianesi himself was coming +with a fresh machine. Mr. Macrae wished it had been Giambresi, whom he +knew; Gianesi he had never met. Condolences, of course, poured in from +all quarters, even the most exalted. The Emperor of Germany was most +sympathetic. But there was no news of importance. Several yachting +parties had been suspected and examined; three young ladies at Oban, +Applecross, and Tobermory, had established their identity and proved that +they were not Miss Macrae. + +All day the wireless machine was silent. Mr. Williams was shown all the +rooms in the castle, and met Blake, who appeared at luncheon. Blake was +most civil. He asked for a private interview with Mr. Macrae, who +inquired whether his school friend, Mr. Williams, might share it? Blake +was pleased to give them both all the information he had, though his +head, he admitted, still rang with the cowardly blow that had stunned +him. He was told of the discovery of the burned boat, and was asked +whether it had approached from east or west, from the side of the +Atlantic, or from the head of the sea loch. + +'From Kinlocharty,' he said, 'from the head of the loch, the landward +side.' This agreed with the evidence of the villagers on the other side +of the sea loch. + +Would he recognise the crew? He had only seen them at a certain +distance, when they landed, but in spite of the blow on his head he +remembered the black beard of one man, and the red beard of another. To +be sure they might shave off their beards, yet these two he thought he +could identify. Speaking to Miss Macrae as the men passed them, he had +called one Donald Dubh, or 'black,' and the other Donald Ban, or 'fair.' +They carried heavy shepherds' crooks in their hands. Their dress was +Lowland, but they wore unusually broad bonnets of the old sort, drooping +over the eyes. Blake knew no more, except his anguish from the midges. + +He expressed his hope to be well enough to go away on Friday; he would +retire to the inn at Scourie, and try to persevere with his literary +work. Mr. Macrae would not hear of this; as, if the miscreants were +captured, Blake alone could have a chance of identifying them. To this +Blake replied that, as long as Mr. Macrae thought that he might be +useful, he was at his service. + +To Merton, Blake displayed himself in a new light. He said that he +remembered little of what occurred after he was found at the foot of the +cliff. Probably he was snappish and selfish; he was suffering very much. +His head, indeed, was still bound up, and his face showed how he had +suffered. Merton shook hands with him, and said that he hoped Blake +would forget his own behaviour, for which he was sincerely sorry. + +'Oh, the chaff?' said Blake. 'Never mind, I dare say I played the fool. +I have been thinking, when my brain would give me leave, as I lay in bed. +Merton, you are a trifle my senior, and you know the world much better. I +have lived in a writing and painting set, where we talked nonsense till +it went to our heads, and we half believed it. And, to tell you the +truth, the presence of women always sets me off. I am a humbug; I do +_not_ know Gaelic, but I mean to work away at my drama for all that. This +kind of shock against the realities of life sobers a fellow.' + +Blake spoke simply, in an unaffected, manly way. + +'_Semel in saninivimus omnes_!' said Merton. + +'_Nec lusisse pudet_!' said Blake, 'and the rest of it. I know there's a +parallel in the _Greek Anthology_, somewhere. I'll go and get my copy.' + +He went into the observatory (they had been sitting on a garden seat +outside), and Merton thought to himself: + +'He is not such a bad fellow. Not many of your young poets know anything +but French.' + +Blake seemed to have some difficulty in finding his Anthology. At last +he came out with rather a 'carried' look, as the Scots say, rather +excited. + +'Here it is,' he said, and handed Merton the little volume, of a +Tauchnitz edition, open at the right page. Merton read the epigram. +'Very neat and good,' he said. + +'Now, Merton,' said Blake, 'it is not usual, is it, for ministers of the +Anglican sect to play the spy?' + +'What in the world do you mean?' asked Merton. 'Oh, I guess, the Rev. +Mr. Williams! Were you not told that his cure of souls is in Scotland +Yard? I ought to have told you, I thought our host would have done so. +What was the holy man doing?' + +'I was not told,' said Blake, 'I suppose Mr. Macrae was too busy. So I +was rather surprised, when I went into my room for my book, to find the +clergyman examining my things and taking books out of one of my book +boxes.' + +'Good heavens!' exclaimed Merton. 'What did you do?' + +'I locked the door of the room, and handed Mr. Williams the key of my +despatch box. "I have a few private trifles there," I said, "the key may +save you trouble." Then I sat down and wrote a note to Mr. Macrae, and +rang the bell and asked the servant to carry the note to his master. Mr. +Macrae came, and I explained the situation and asked him to be kind +enough to order the motor, if he could spare it, or anything to carry me +to the nearest inn.' + +'I shall order it, Mr. Blake,' said Mr. Macrae, 'but it will be to remove +this person, whom I especially forbade to molest any of my guests. I +don't know how I forgot to tell you who he is, a detective; the others +were told.' + +'He confounded himself in excuses; it was horribly awkward.' + +'Horribly!' said Merton. + +'He rated the man for visiting his guests' rooms without his knowledge. I +dare say the parson has turned over all _your_ things.' + +Merton blenched. He had some of the correspondence of the Disentanglers +with him, rather private matter, naturally. + +'He had not the key of my despatch box,' said Merton. + +'He could open it with a quill, I believe,' said Blake. 'They do--in +novels.' + +Merton felt very uneasy. 'What was the end of it?' he asked. + +'Oh, I said that if the man was within his duty the accident was only one +of those which so singular a misfortune brings with it. I would stay +while Mr. Macrae wanted me. I handed over my keys, and insisted that all +my luggage and drawers and things should be examined. But Mr. Macrae +would not listen to me, and forbade the fellow to enter any of--the +bedrooms.' + +'Begad, I'll go and look at my own despatch box,' said Merton. + +'I shall sit in the shade,' said Blake. + +Merton did examine his box, but could not see that any of the papers had +been disarranged. Still, as the receptacle was full of family secrets he +did not feel precisely comfortable. Going out on the lawn he met Mr. +Macrae, who took him into a retired place and told him what had occurred. + +'I had given the man the strictest orders not to invade the rooms of any +of my guests,' he said; 'it is too odious.' + +The Rev. Mr. Williams being indisposed, dined alone in his room that +night; so did Blake, who was still far from well. + +The only other incident was that Donald Macdonald and the new gillie, +Duncan Mackay, were reported to be 'lying around in a frightfully +dissolute state.' Donald was a sober man, but Mackay, he explained next +morning, proved to be his long lost cousin, hence the revel. Mackay, +separately, stated that he had made Donald intoxicated for the purpose of +eliciting any guilty secret which he might possess. But whisky had +elicited nothing. + +On the whole the London detectives had not been entirely a success. Mr. +Macrae therefore arranged to send both of them back to Lairg, where they +would strike the line, and return to the metropolis. + +Merton had casually talked of Logan (Lord Fastcastle) to Mr. Macrae on +the previous evening, and mentioned that he was now likely to be at +Inchnadampf. Mr. Macrae knew something of Logan, and before he sped the +parting detectives, asked Merton whether he thought that he might send a +note to Inchnadampf inviting his friend to come and bear him company? +Merton gravely said that in such a crisis as theirs he thought that Logan +would be extremely helpful, and that he was a friend of the Budes. +Perhaps he himself had better go and pick up Logan and inform him fully +as to the mysterious events? As Mr. Gianesi was also expected from +London on that day (Thursday) to examine the wireless machine, which had +been silent, Mr. Macrae sent off several vehicles, as well as the motor +that carried the detectives. Merton drove the tandem himself. + +Merton found Logan, with his Spanish bull-dog, Bouncer, loafing outside +the hotel door at Inchnadampf. He greeted Merton in a state of +suppressed glee; the whole adventure was much to the taste of the scion +of Rostalrig. Merton handed him Mr. Macrae's letter of invitation. + +'Come, won't I come, rather!' said Logan. + +'Of course we must wait to rest the horses,' said Merton. 'The motor has +gone on to Lairg, carrying two detectives who have made a pretty foozle +of it, and it will bring back an electrician.' + +'What for?' asked Logan. + +'I must tell you the whole story,' said Merton. 'Let us walk a little +way--too many gillies and people loafing about here.' + +They walked up the road and sat down by little Loch Awe, the lochan on +the way to Alt-na-gealgach. Merton told all the tale, beginning with his +curious experiences on the night before the disappearance of Miss Macrae, +and ending with the dismissal of the detectives. He also confided to +Logan the importance of the matter to himself, and entreated him to be +serious. + +Logan listened very attentively. + +When Merton had ended, Logan said, 'Old boy, you were the making of me: +you may trust me. Serious it is. A great deal of capital must have been +put into this business.' + +'A sprat to catch a whale,' said Merton. 'You mean about nobbling the +electric machine? How could _that_ be done?' + +'That--and other things. I don't know _how_ the machine was nobbled, but +it could not be done cheap. Would you mind telling me your dreams +again?' + +Merton repeated the story. + +Logan was silent. + +'Do you see your way?' asked Merton. + +'I must have time to think it out,' said Logan. 'It is rather mixed. +When was Bude to return from his cruise to "The Seven Hunters"?' + +'Perhaps to-night,' said Merton. 'We cannot be sure. She is a very +swift yacht, the _Flora Macdonald_.' + +'I'll think it all over, Bude may give us a tip.' + +No more would Logan say, beyond asking questions, which Merton could not +answer, about the transatlantic past of the vanished heiress. + +They loitered back towards the hotel and lunched. The room was almost +empty, all the guests of the place were out fishing. Presently the motor +returned from Lairg, bringing Mr. Gianesi and a large box of his +electrical appliances. Merton rapidly told him all that he did not +already know through Mr. Macrae's telegrams. He was a reserved man, +rather young, and beyond thanking Merton, said little, but pushed on +towards Castle Skrae in the motor. 'Some other motors,' he said, 'had +arrived, and were being detained at Lairg.' They came later. + +Merton and Logan followed in the tandem, Logan driving; they had handed +to Gianesi a sheaf of telegrams for the millionaire. As to the objects +of interest on the now familiar road, Merton enlightened Logan, who +seemed as absent-minded as Merton had been, when instructed by Dr. +MacTavish. As they approached the Castle, Merton observed, from a +height, the _Flora Macdonald_ steaming into the sea loch. + +'Let us drive straight down to the cove and meet them,' he said. + +They arrived at the cove just as the boat from the yacht touched the +shore. The Budes were astonished and delighted to see their old friend, +Logan, and his dog, Bouncer, a tawny black muzzled, bow-legged hero, was +admired by Lady Bude. + +Merton rapidly explained. 'Now, what tidings?' he asked. + +The party walked aside on the shore, and Bude swiftly narrated what he +had discovered. + +'They _have_ been there,' he said. 'We drew six of the islets blank, +including the islet of the lighthouse. The men there had seen a large +yacht, two ladies and a gentleman from it had visited them. They knew no +more. Desert places, the other isles are, full of birds. On the seventh +isle we found some Highland fishermen from the Lewis in a great state of +excitement. They had only landed an hour before to pick up some fish +they had left to dry on the rocks. They had no English, but one of our +crew had the Gaelic, and interpreted in Scots. Regular Gaels, they did +not want to speak, but I offered money, gold, let them see it. Then they +took us to a cave. Do you know Mackinnon's cave in Mull, opposite Iona?' + +'Yes, drive on!' said Merton, much interested. + +'Well, inside it was pitched an empty corrugated iron house, quite new, +and another, on the further side, outside the cave.' + +'I picked up this in the interior of the cave,' said Lady Bude. + +'This' was a golden hair-pin of peculiar make. + +'That's the kind of hair-pin she wears,' said Lady Bude. + +'By Jove!' said Merton and Logan in one voice. + +'But that was all,' said Bude. 'There was no other trace, except that +plainly people had been coming and going, and living there. They had +left some empty bottles, and two intact champagne bottles. We tasted it, +it was excellent! The Lewis men, who had not heard of the affair, could +tell nothing more, except, what is absurd, that they had lately seen a +dragon flying far off over the sea. A _dragon volant_, did you ever hear +such nonsense? The interpreter pronounced it "draigon." He had not too +much English himself.' + +'The Highlanders are so delightfully superstitious,' said Lady Bude. + +Logan opened his lips to speak, but said nothing. + +'I don't think we should keep Mr. Macrae waiting,' said Lady Bude. + +'If Bude will take the reins,' said Merton, 'you and he can be at the +Castle in no time. We shall walk.' + +'Excuse me a moment,' said Logan. 'A word with you, Bude.' + +He took Bude aside, uttered a few rapid sentences, and then helped Lady +Bude into the tandem. Bude followed, and drove away. + +'Is your secret to be kept from me?' asked Merton. + +'Well, old boy, you never told _me_ the mystery of the Emu's feathers! +Secret for secret, out with it; how did the feathers help you, if they +_did_ help you, to find out my uncle, the Marquis? _Gifgaff_, as we say +in Berwickshire. Out with your feathers! and I'll produce my _dragon +volant_, tail and all.' + +Merton was horrified. The secret of the Emu's feathers involved the +father of Lady Fastcastle, of his old friend's wife, in a very +distasteful way. Logan, since his marriage, had never shown any +curiosity in the matter. His was a joyous nature; no one was less of a +self-tormentor. + +'Well, old fellow,' said Merton, 'keep your dragon, and I'll keep my +Emu.' + +'I won't keep him long, I assure you,' said Logan. 'Only for a day or +two, I dare say; then you'll know; sooner perhaps. But, for excellent +reasons, I asked Bude and Lady Bude to say nothing about the +hallucination of these second-sighted Highland fishers. I have a plan. I +think we shall run in the kidnappers; keep your pecker up. You shall be +in it!' + +With this promise, and with Logan's jovial confidence (he kept breaking +into laughter as he went) Merton had to be satisfied, though in no humour +for laughing. + +'I'm working up to my _denouement_.' Logan said. 'Tremendously +dramatic! You shall be on all through; I am keeping the fat for you, +Merton. It is no bad thing for a young man to render the highest +possible services to a generous millionaire, especially in the +circumstances.' + +'You're rather patronising,' said Merton, a little hurt. + +'No, no,' said Logan. 'I have played second fiddle to you often, do let +me take command this time--or, at all events, wait till you see my plot +unfolded. Then you can take your part, or leave it alone, or modify to +taste. Nothing can be fairer.' + +Merton admitted that these proposals were loyal, and worthy of their old +and tried friendship. + +'_Un dragon volant_, flying over the empty sea!' said Logan. 'The +Highlanders beat the world for fantastic visions, and the Islanders beat +the Highlanders. But, look here, am I too inquisitive? The night when +we first thought of the Disentanglers you said there was--somebody. But +I understood that she and you were of one mind, and that only parents and +poverty were in the way. And now, from what you told me this morning at +Inchnadampf, it seems that there is no understanding between you and +_this_ lady, Miss Macrae.' + +'There is none,' said Merton. 'I tried to keep my feelings to myself--I'm +ashamed to say that I doubt if I succeeded.' + +'Any chance?' asked Logan, putting his arm in Merton's in the old +schoolboy way. + +'I would rather not speak about it,' said Merton. 'I had meant to go +myself on the Monday. Then came the affair of Sunday night,' and he +sighed. + +'Then the somebody before was another somebody?' + +'Yes,' said Merton, turning rather red. + +'Men have died and the worms have eaten them, but not for love,' muttered +Logan. + + + +IV. The Adventure of Eachain of the Hairy Arm + + +On arriving at the Castle Logan and Merton found poor Mr. Macrae +comparatively cheerful. Bude and Lady Bude had told what they had +gleaned, and the millionaire, recognising his daughter's hair-pin, had +all but broken down. Lady Bude herself had wept as he thanked her for +this first trace, this endearing relic, of the missing girl, and he +warmly welcomed Merton, who had detected the probable meaning of the +enigmatic 'Seven Hunters.' + +'It is to _you_,' he said, 'Mr. Merton, that I owe the intelligence of my +daughter's life and probable comfort.' + +Lady Bude caught Merton's eye; one of hers was slightly veiled by her +long lashes. + +The telegrams of the day had only brought the usual stories of the +fruitless examination of yachts, and of hopes unfulfilled and clues that +led to nothing. The outermost islets were being searched, and a steamer +had been sent to St. Kilda. At home Mr. Gianesi had explained to Mr. +Macrae that he and his partner were forced, reluctantly, by the nature of +the case, to suspect treason within their own establishment in London, a +thing hitherto unprecedented. They had therefore installed a new machine +in a carefully locked chamber at their place, and Mr. Gianesi was ready +at once to set up a corresponding recipient engine at Castle Skrae. Mr. +Macrae wished first to remove the machine in the smoking-room, but Blake +ventured to suggest that it had better be left where it was. + +'The conspirators,' he said, 'have made one blunder already, by +mentioning "The Seven Hunters," unless, indeed, that was intentional; +they _may_ have meant to lighten our anxiety, without leaving any useful +clue. They may make another mistake: in any case it is as well to be in +touch with them.' + +At this moment the smoking-room machine began to tick and emitted a +message. It ran, 'Glad you visited the Hunters. You see we do ourselves +very well. Hope you drank our health, we left some bottles of champagne +on purpose. No nasty feeling, only a matter of business. Do hurry up +and come to terms.' + +'Impudent dogs!' said Mr. Macrae. 'But I think you are right, Mr. Blake; +we had better leave these communications open.' + +Mr. Gianesi agreed that Blake had spoken words of wisdom. Merton felt +surprised at his practical common sense. It was necessary to get another +pole to erect on the roof of the observatory, with another box at top for +the new machine, but a flagstaff from the Castle leads was found to serve +the purpose, and the rest of the day was passed in arranging the +installation, the new machine being placed in Mr. Merton's own study. +Before dinner was over, Mr. Gianesi, who worked like a horse, was able to +announce that all was complete, and that a brief message, 'Yours +received, all right,' had passed through from his firm in London. + +Soon after dinner Blake retired to his room; his head was still +suffering, and he could not bear smoke. Gianesi and Mr. Macrae were in +the Castle, Mr. Macrae feverishly reading the newspaper speculations on +the melancholy affair: leading articles on Science and Crime, the +potentialities of both, the perils of wealth, and such other thoughts as +occurred to active minds in Fleet Street. Gianesi's room was in the +observatory, but he remained with Mr. Macrae in case he might be needed. +Merton and Logan were alone in the smoking-room, where Bude left them +early. + +'Now, Merton,' said Logan, 'you are going to come on in the next scene. +Have you a revolver?' + +'Heaven forbid!' said Merton. + +'Well, I have! Now this is what you are to do. We shall both turn in +about twelve, and make a good deal of clatter and talk as we do so. You +will come with me into my room. I'll hand you the revolver, loaded, +silently, while we talk fishing shop with the door open. Then you will +go rather noisily to your room, bang the door, take off your shoes, and +slip out again--absolutely noiselessly--back into the smoking-room. You +see that window in the embrasure here, next the door, looking out towards +the loch? The curtain is drawn already, you will go on the window-seat +and sit tight! Don't fall asleep! I shall give you my portable electric +lamp for reading in the train. You may find it useful. Only don't fall +asleep. When the row begins I shall come on.' + +'I see,' said Merton. 'But look here! Suppose you slip out of your own +room, locking the door quietly, and into mine, where you can snore, you +know--I snore myself--in case anybody takes a fancy to see whether I am +asleep? Leave your dog in your own room, _he_ snores, all Spanish bull- +dogs do.' + +'Yes, that will serve,' said Logan. 'Merton, your mind is not wholly +inactive.' + +They had some whisky and soda-water, and carried out the manoeuvres on +which they had decided. + +Merton, unshod, silently re-entered the smoking-room, his shoes in his +hand; Logan as tactfully occupied Merton's room, and then they waited. +Presently, the smoking-room door being slightly ajar, Merton heard Logan +snoring very naturally; the Spanish bull-dog was yet more sonorous. +Gianesi came in, walked upstairs to his bedroom, and shut his door; in +half an hour he also was snoring; it was a nasal trio. + +Merton 'drove the night along,' like Dr. Johnson, by repeating Latin and +other verses. He dared not turn on the light of his portable electric +lamp and read; he was afraid to smoke; he heard the owls towhitting and +towhooing from the woods, and the clock on the Castle tower striking the +quarters and the hours. + +One o'clock passed, two o'clock passed, a quarter after two, then the +bell of the wireless machine rang, the machine began to tick; Merton sat +tight, listening. All the curtains of the windows were drawn, the room +was almost perfectly dark; the snorings had sometimes lulled, sometimes +revived. Merton lay behind the curtains on the window-seat, facing the +door. He knew, almost without the help of his ears, that the door was +slowly, slowly opening. Something entered, something paused, something +stole silently towards the wireless machine, and paused again. Then a +glow suffused the further end of the room, a disc of electric light, +clearly from a portable lamp. A draped form, in deep shadow, was exposed +to Merton's view. He stole forward on tiptoe with noiseless feet; he +leaped on the back of the figure, threw his left arm round its neck, +caught its right wrist in a grip of steel, and yelled: + +'Mr. Eachain of the Hairy Arm, if I am not mistaken!' + +At the same moment there came a click, the electric light was switched +on, Logan bounced on to the figure, tore away a revolver from the right +hand of which Merton held the wrist, and the two fell on the floor above +a struggling Highland warrior in the tartans of the Macraes. The figure +was thrown on its face. + +'Got you now, Mr. Blake!' said Logan, turning the head to the light. 'D--- +n!' he added; 'it is Gianesi! I thought we had the Irish minstrel.' + +The figure only snarled, and swore in Italian. + +'First thing, anyhow, to tie him up,' said Logan, producing a serviceable +cord. + +Both Logan and Merton were muscular men, and presently had the intruder +tightly swathed in inextricable knots and gagged in a homely but +sufficient fashion. + +'Now, Merton,' said Logan, 'this is a bitter disappointment! From your +dream, or vision, of Eachain of the Hairy Arm, it was clear to me that +somebody, the poet for choice, had heard the yarn of the Highland ghost, +and was masquerading in the kilt for the purpose of tampering with the +electric dodge and communicating with the kidnappers. Apparently I owe +the bard an apology. You'll sit on this fellow's chest while I go and +bring Mr. Macrae.' + +'A message has come in on the machine,' said Merton. + +'Well, he can read it; it is not our affair.' + +Logan went off; Merton poured out a glass of Apollinaris water, added a +little whisky, and lit a cigarette. The figure on the floor wriggled; +Merton put the revolver which the man had dropped and Logan's pistol into +a drawer of the writing-table, which he locked. + +'I do detest all that cheap revolver business,' said Merton. + +The row had awakened Logan's dog, which was howling dolefully in the +neighbouring room. + +'Queer situation, eh?' said Merton to the prostrate figure. + +Hurrying footsteps climbed the stairs; Mr. Macrae (with a shot-gun) and +Logan entered. + +Mr. Macrae all but embraced Merton. 'Had I a son, I could have wished +him to be like you,' he said; 'but my poor boy--' his voice broke. Merton +had not known before that the millionaire had lost a son. He did +understand, however, that the judicious Logan had given _him_ the whole +credit of the exploit, for reasons too obvious to Merton. + +'Don't thank _me_,' he was saying, when Logan interrupted: + +'Don't you think, Mr. Macrae, you had better examine the message that has +just come in?' + +Mr. Macrae read, 'Glad they found the hair-pin, it will console the old +boy. Do not quite see how to communicate, if Gianesi, who, you say, has +arrived, removes the machine.' + +'Look here,' cried Merton, 'excuse my offering advice, but we ought, I +think, to send for Donald Macdonald _at once_. We must flash back a +message to those brutes, so they may think they are still in +communication with the traitor in our camp. That beast on the floor +could work it, of course, but he would only warn _them_; we can't check +him. We must use Donald, and keep them thinking that they are sending +news to the traitor.' + +'But, by Jove,' said Logan, 'they have heard from _him_, whoever he is, +since Bude came back, for they know about the finding of the hair-pin. +You,' he said to the wretched captive, 'have you been at this machine?' + +The man, being gagged, only gasped. + +'There's this, too,' said Merton, 'the senders of the last message +clearly think that Gianesi is against them. If Gianesi removes the +machine, they say--' + +Merton did not finish his sentence, he rushed out of the room. Presently +he hurried back. 'Mr. Macrae,' he said, 'Blake's door is locked. I +can't waken him, and, if he were in his room, the noise we have made must +have wakened him already. Logan, ungag that creature!' + +Logan removed the gag. + +'Who are _you_?' he asked. + +The captive was silent. + +'Mr. Macrae,' said Merton, 'may I run and bring Donald and the other +servants here? Donald must work the machine at once, and we must break +in Blake's door, and, if he is off, we must rouse the country after him.' + +Mr. Macrae seemed almost dazed, the rapid sequence of unusual +circumstances being remote from his experience. In spite of the blaze of +electric light, the morning was beginning to steal into the room; the +refreshments on the table looked oddly dissipated, there was a heavy +stale smell of tobacco, and of whisky from a bottle that had been upset +in the struggle. Mr. Macrae opened a window and inhaled the fresh air +from the Atlantic. + +This revived him. 'I'll ring the alarm bell,' he said, and, putting a +small key to an unnoticed keyhole in a panel, he opened a tiny door, +thrust in his hand, and pressed a knob. Instantly from the Castle tower +came the thunderous knell of the alarm. 'I had it put in in case of fire +or burglars,' explained the millionaire, adding automatically, 'every +modern improvement.' + +In a few minutes the servants and gillies had gathered, hastily clad; +they were met by Logan, who briefly bade some bring hammers, and the +caber, or pine-tree trunk that is tossed in Highland sports. It would +make a good battering-ram. Donald Macdonald he sent at once to Mr. +Macrae. He met Bude and Lady Bude, and rapidly explained that there was +no danger of fire. The Countess went back to her rooms, Bude returned +with Logan into the observatory. Here they found Donald telegraphing to +the conspirators, by the wireless engine, a message dictated by Merton: + +'Don't be alarmed about communications. I have got them to leave our +machine in its place on the chance that you might say something that +would give you away. Gianesi suspects nothing. Wire as usual, at about +half-past two in the morning, when you mean it for me.' + +'That ought to be good enough,' said Logan approvingly, while the hammers +and the caber, under Mr. Macrae's directions, were thundering on the door +of Blake's room. The door, which was very strong, gave way at last with +a crash; in they burst. The room was empty, a rope fastened to the +ironwork of the bedstead showed the poet's means of escape, for a long +rope-ladder swung from the window. On the table lay a letter directed to + + _Thomas Merton, Esq_., + _care of Ronald Macrae, Esq_., + _Castle Skrae_. + +Mr. Macrae took the letter, bidding Benson, the butler, search the room, +and conveyed the epistle to Merton, who opened it. It ran thus:-- + + 'DEAR MERTON,--As a man of the world, and slightly my senior, you must + have expected to meet me in the smoking-room to-night, or at least + Lord Fastcastle probably entertained that hope. I saw that things + were getting a little too warm, and made other arrangements. It is a + little hard on the poor fellow whom you have probably mauled, if you + have not shot each other. As he has probably informed you, he is not + Mr. Gianesi, but a dismissed _employe_, whom we enlisted, and whom I + found it desirable to leave behind me. These discomforts will occur; + I myself did not look for so severe an assault as I suffered down at + the cove on Sunday evening. The others carried out their parts only + too conscientiously in my case. You will not easily find an + opportunity of renewing our acquaintance, as I slit and cut the tyres + of all the motors, except that on which I am now retiring from + hospitable Castle Skrae, having also slit largely the tyres of the + bicycles. Mr. Macrae's new wireless machine has been rendered useless + by my unfortunate associate, and, as I have rather spiked all the + wheeled conveyances (I could not manage to scuttle the yacht), you + will be put to some inconvenience to re-establish communications. By + that time my trail will be lost. I enclose a banknote for 10_l_., + which pray, if you would oblige me, distribute among the servants at + the Castle. Please thank Mr. Macrae for all his hospitality. Among + my books you may find something to interest you. You may keep my + manuscript poems. + + Very faithfully yours, + GERALD BLAKE.' + + 'P. S.--The genuine Gianesi will probably arrive at Lairg to-morrow. + My unfortunate associate (whom I cannot sufficiently pity), relieved + him of his ingenious machine _en_ _route_, and left him, heavily + drugged, in a train bound for Fort William. Or perhaps Gianesi may + come by sea to Loch Inver. G.B.' + +When Merton had read this elegant epistle aloud, Benson entered, bearing +electrical apparatus which had been found in the book boxes abandoned by +Blake. What he had done was obvious enough. He had merely smuggled in, +in his book boxes, a machine which corresponded with that of the +kidnappers, and had substituted its mechanism for that supplied to Mr. +Macrae by Gianesi and Giambresi. This he must have arranged on the +Saturday night, when Merton saw the kilted appearance of Eachain of the +Hairy Arm. A few metallic atoms from the coherer on the floor of the +smoking-room had caught Merton's eye before breakfast on Sunday morning. +Now it was Friday morning! And still no means of detecting and capturing +the kidnappers had been discovered. + +Out of the captive nothing could be extracted. The room had been +cleared, save for Mr. Macrae, Logan, and Bude, and the man had been +interrogated. He refused to answer any questions, and demanded to be +taken before a magistrate. Now, where was there a magistrate? + +Logan lighted the smoking-room fire, thrust the poker into it, and began +tying hard knots in a length of cord, all this silently. His brows were +knit, his lips were set, in his eye shone the wild light of the blood of +Restalrig. Bude and Mr. Macrae looked on aghast. + +'What _are_ you about?' asked Merton. + +'There are methods of extracting information from reluctant witnesses,' +snarled Logan. + +'Oh, bosh!' said Merton. 'Mr. Macrae cannot permit you to revive your +ancestral proceedings.' + +Logan threw down his knotted cord. 'I beg your pardon, Mr. Macrae,' he +said, 'but if I had that dog in my house of Kirkburn--' he then went out. + +'Lord Fastcastle is a little moved,' said Merton. 'He comes of a wild +stock, but I never saw him like this.' + +Mr. Macrae allowed that the circumstances were unusual. + +A horrible thought occurred to Merton. 'Mr. Macrae,' he exclaimed, 'may +I speak to you privately? Bude, I dare say, will be kind enough to +remain with that person.' + +Mr. Macrae followed Merton into the billiard-room. + +'My dear sir,' said the pallid Merton, 'Logan and I have made a terrible +blunder! We never doubted that, if we caught any one, our captive would +be Blake. I do not deny that this man is his accomplice, but we have +literally no proof. He may persist, if taken before a magistrate, that +he is Gianesi. He may say that, being in your employment as an +electrician, he naturally entered the smoking-room when the electric bell +rang. He can easily account for his possession of a revolver, in a place +where a mysterious crime has just been committed. As to the Highland +costume, he may urge that, like many Southrons, he had bought it to wear +on a Highland tour, and was trying it on. How can you keep him? You +have no longer the right of Pit and Gallows. Before what magistrate can +you take him, and where? The sheriff-substitute may be at Golspie, or +Tongue, or Dingwall, or I don't know where. What can we do? What have +we against the man? "Loitering with intent"? And here Logan and I have +knocked him down, and tied him up, and Logan wanted to torture him.' + +'Dear Mr. Merton,' replied Mr. Macrae, with paternal tenderness, 'you are +overwrought. You have not slept all night. I must insist that you go to +bed, and do not rise till you are called. The man is certainly guilty of +conspiracy, that will be proved when the real Gianesi comes to hand. If +not, I do not doubt that I can secure his silence. You forget the power +of money. Make yourself easy, go to sleep; meanwhile I must re-establish +communications. Good-night, golden slumbers!' + +He wrung Merton's hand, and left him admiring the calm resolution of one +whose conversation, 'in the mad pride of intellectuality,' he had +recently despised. The millionaire, Merton felt, was worthy to be his +daughter's father. + +'The power of money!' mused Mr. Macrae; 'what is it in circumstances like +mine? Surrounded by all the resources of science, I am baffled by a +clever rogue and in a civilised country the aid of the law and the police +is as remote and inaccessible as in the Great Sahara! But to business!' + +He sent for Benson, bade him, with some gillies, carry the prisoner into +the dungeon of the old castle, loose his bonds, place food before him, +and leave him in charge of the stalker. He informed Bude that breakfast +would be ready at eight, and then retired to his study, where he matured +his plans. + +The yacht he would send to Lochinver to await the real Gianesi there, and +to send telegrams descriptive of Blake in all directions. Giambresi must +be telegraphed to again, and entreated to come in person, with yet +another electric machine, for that brought by the false Gianesi had been, +by the same envoy, rendered useless. A mounted man must be despatched to +Lairg to collect vehicles and transport there, and to meet the real +Gianesi if he came that way. Thus Mr. Macrae, with cool patience and +forethought, endeavoured to recover his position, happy in the reflection +that treachery had at last been eliminated. He did not forget to write +telegrams to remote sheriff-substitutes and procurators fiscal. + +As to the kidnappers, he determined to amuse them with protracted +negotiations on the subject of his daughter's ransom. These would be +despatched, of course, by the wireless engine which was in tune and touch +with their own. During the parleyings the wretches might make some +blunder, and Mr. Macrae could perhaps think out some plan for their +detection and capture, without risk to his daughter. If not, he must pay +ransom. + +Having written out his orders and telegrams, Mr. Macrae went downstairs +to visit the stables. He gave his commands to his servants, and, as he +returned, he met Logan, who had been on the watch for him. + +'I am myself again, Mr. Macrae,' said Logan, smiling. 'After all, we are +living in the twentieth century, not the sixteenth, worse luck! And now +can you give me your attention for a few minutes?' + +'Willingly,' said Mr. Macrae, and they walked together to a point in the +garden where they were secure from being overheard. + +'I must ask you to lend me a horse to ride to Lairg and the railway at +once,' said Logan. + +'Must you leave us? You cannot, I fear, catch the 12.50 train south.' + +'I shall take a special train if I cannot catch the one I want,' said +Logan, adding, 'I have a scheme for baffling these miscreants and +rescuing Miss Macrae, while disappointing them of the monstrous ransom +which they are certain to claim. If you can trust me, you will enter +into protracted negotiations with them on the matter through the wireless +machine.' + +'That I had already determined to do,' said the millionaire. 'But may I +inquire what is your scheme?' + +'Would it be asking too much to request you to let me keep it concealed, +even from you? Everything depends on the most absolute secrecy. It must +not appear that you are concerned--must not be suspected. My plan has +been suggested to me by trifling indications which no one else has +remarked. It is a plan which, I confess, appears wild, but what is _not_ +wild in this unhappy affair? Science, as a rule beneficent, has given +birth to potentialities of crime which exceed the dreams of oriental +romance. But science, like the spear of Achilles, can cure the wounds +which herself inflicts.' + +Logan spoke calmly, but eloquently, as every reader must observe. He was +no longer the fierce Border baron of an hour agone, but the polished +modern gentleman. The millionaire marked the change. + +'Any further mystery cannot but be distasteful, Lord Fastcastle,' said +Mr. Macrae. + +'The truth is,' said Logan, 'that if my plan takes shape important +persons and interests will be involved. I myself will be involved, and, +for reasons both public and private, it seems to me to the last degree +essential that you should in no way appear; that you should be able, +honestly, to profess entire ignorance. If I fail, I give you my word of +honour that your position will be in no respect modified by my action. If +I succeed--' + +'Then you will, indeed, be my preserver,' said the millionaire. + +'Not I, but my friend, Mr. Merton,' said Logan, 'who, by the way, ought +to accompany me. In Mr. Merton's genius for success in adventures +entailing a mystery more dark, and personal dangers far greater, than +those involved by my scheme (which is really quite safe), I have +confidence based on large experience. To Merton alone I owe it that I am +a married, a happy, and, speaking to any one but yourself, I might say an +affluent man. This adventure must be achieved, if at all, _auspice +Merton_.' + +'I also have much confidence in him, and I sincerely love him,' said Mr. +Macrae, to the delight of Logan. He then paced silently up and down in +deep thought. 'You say that your scheme involves you in no personal +danger?' he asked. + +'In none, or only in such as men encounter daily in several professions. +Merton and I like it.' + +'And you will not suffer in character if you fail?' + +'Certainly not in character; no gentleman of my coat ever entered on +enterprise so free from moral blame,' said Logan, 'since my ancestor and +namesake, Sir Robert, fell at the side of the good Lord James of Douglas, +above the Heart of Bruce.' + +He thrilled and changed colour as he spoke. + +'Yet it would not do for _me_ to be known to be connected with the +enterprise?' asked Mr. Macrae. + +'Indeed it would not! Your notorious opulence would arouse ideas in the +public mind, ideas false, indeed, but fatally compromising.' + +'I may not even subsidise the affair--put a million to Mr. Merton's +account?' + +'In no sort! Afterwards, _after_ he succeeds, then I don't say, if +Merton will consent; but that is highly improbable. I know my friend.' + +Mr. Macrae sighed deeply and remained pensive. 'Well,' he answered at +last, 'I accept your very gallant and generous proposal.' + +'I am overjoyed!' said Logan. He had never been in such a big thing +before. + +'I shall order my two best horses to be saddled after breakfast,' said +Mr. Macrae. 'You will bait at Inchnadampf.' + +'Here is my address; this will always find me,' said Logan, writing +rapidly on a leaf of his note-book. + +'You will wire all news of your negotiations with the pirates to me, by +the new wireless machine, when Giambresi brings it, and his firm in town +will telegraph it on to me, at the address I gave you, _in cypher_. To +save time, we must use a book cypher, we can settle it in the house in +ten minutes,' said Logan, now entirely in his element. + +They chose _The Bonnie Brier Bush_, by Mr. Ian Maclaren--a work too +popular to excite suspicion; and arranged the method of secret +correspondence with great rapidity. Logan then rushed up to Merton's +room, hastily communicated the scheme to him, and overcame his +objections, nay, awoke in him, by his report of Mr. Macrae's words, the +hopes of a lover. They came down to breakfast, and arranged that their +baggage should be sent after them as soon as communications were +restored. + +Merton contrived to have a brief interview with Lady Bude. Her joyous +spirit shone in her eyes. + +'I do not know what Lord Fastcastle's plan is,' she said, 'but I wish you +good fortune. You have won the _father's_ heart, and now I am about to +be false to my sex'--she whispered--'the daughter's is all but your own! +I can help you a little,' she added, and, after warmly clasping both her +hands in his, Merton hurried to the front of the house, where the horses +stood, and sprang into the saddle. No motors, no bicycles, no scientific +vehicles to-day; the clean wind piped to him from the mountains; a good +steed was between his thighs! Logan mounted, after entrusting Bouncer to +Lady Bude, and they galloped eastwards. + + + +V. The Adventure of the Flora Macdonald + + +'This is the point indicated, latitude so and so, longitude so and so,' +said Mr Macrae. 'But I do not see a sail or a funnel on the western +horizon. Nothing since we left the Fleet behind us, far to the East. Yet +it is the hour. It is strange!' + +Mr. Macrae was addressing Bude. They stood together on the deck of the +_Flora Macdonald_, the vast yacht of the millionaire. She was lying to +on a sea as glassy and radiant, under a blazing August sun, as the +Atlantic can show in her mildest moods. On the quarter-deck of the yacht +were piled great iron boxes containing the millions in gold with which +the millionaire had at last consented to ransom his daughter. He had +been negotiating with her captors through the wireless machine, and, as +Logan could not promise any certain release, Mr. Macrae had finally +surrendered, while informing Logan of the circumstances and details of +his rendezvous with the kidnappers. The amassing of the gold had shaken +the exchanges of two worlds. Banks trembled, rates were enormous, but +the precious metal had been accumulated. The pirates would not take Mr. +Macrae's cheque; bank notes they laughed at, the millions must be paid in +gold. Now at last the gold was on the spot of ocean indicated by the +kidnappers, but there was no sign of sail or ship, no promise of their +coming. Men with telescopes in the rigging of the _Flora_ were on the +outlook in vain. They could pick up one of the floating giants of our +fleet, far off to the East, but North, West and South were empty wastes +of water. + +'Three o'clock has come and gone. I hope there has been no accident,' +said Mr. Macrae nervously. 'But where are those thieves?' He absently +pressed his repeater, it tingled out the half-hour. + +'It _is_ odd,' said Bude. 'Hullo, look there, what's _that_?' + +_That_ was a slim spar, which suddenly shot from the plain of ocean, at a +distance of a hundred yards. On its apex a small black hood twisted +itself this way and that like a living thing; so tranquil was the hour +that the spar with its dull hood was distinctly reflected in the mirror- +like waters of the ocean. + +'By gad, it is the periscope of a submarine!' said Bude. + +There could not be a doubt of it. The invention of Napier of Merchistoun +and of M. Jules Verne, now at last an actual engine of human warfare, had +been employed by the kidnappers of the daughter of the millionaire! + +A light flashed on the mind, steady and serviceable, but not brilliantly +ingenious, of Mr. Macrae. 'This,' he exclaimed rather superfluously, +'accounts for the fiendish skill with which these miscreants took cover +when pursued by the Marine Police. _This_ explains the subtle art with +which they dodged observation. Doubtless they had always, somewhere, a +well-found normal yacht containing their supplies. Do you not agree with +me, my lord?' + +'In my opinion,' said Bude, 'you have satisfactorily explained what has +so long puzzled us. But look! The periscope, having reconnoitred us, is +sinking again!' + +It was true. The slim spar gracefully descended to the abyss. Again +ocean smiled with innumerable laughters (as the Athenian sings), smiled, +empty, azure, effulgent! The _Flora Macdonald_ was once more alone on a +wide, wide sea! + +Two slight jars were now just felt by the owner, skipper, and crew of the +_Flora Macdonald_. 'What's that?' asked Mr. Macrae sharply. 'A reef?' + +'In my opinion,' said the captain, 'the beggars in the submarine have +torpedoed us. Attached torpedoes to our keel, sir,' he explained, +respectfully touching his cap and shifting the quid in his cheek. He was +a bluff tar of the good old school. + +'Merciful heavens!' exclaimed Mr. Macrae, his face paling. 'What can +this new outrage mean? Here on our deck is the gold; if they explode +their torpedoes the bullion sinks to join the exhaustless treasures of +the main!' + +'A bit of bluff and blackmail on their part I fancy,' said Bude, lighting +a cigarette. + +'No doubt! No doubt!' said Mr. Macrae, rather unsteadily. 'They would +never be such fools as to blow up the millions. Still, an accident might +have awful results.' + +'Look there, sir, if you please,' said the captain of the _Flora +Macdonald_, 'there's that spar of theirs up again.' + +It was so. The spar, the periscope, shot up on the larboard side of the +yacht. After it had reconnoitred, the mirror of ocean was stirred into +dazzling circling waves, and the deck of a submarine slowly emerged. The +deck was long and flat, and of a much larger area than submarines in +general have. It would seem to indicate the presence below the water of +a body or hull of noble proportions. A voice hailed the yacht from the +submarine, though no speaker was visible. + +'You have no consort?' the voice yelled. + +'For ten years I have been a widower,' replied Mr. Macrae, his voice +trembling with emotion. + +'Most sorry to have unintentionally awakened unavailing regrets,' came +the voice. 'But I mean, honour bright, you have no attendant armed +vessel?' + +'None, I promised you so,' said Mr. Macrae; 'I am a man of my word. Come +on deck if you doubt me and look for yourself.' + +'Not me, and get shot by a rifleman,' said the voice. + +'It is very distressing to be distrusted in this manner,' replied Mr. +Macrae. 'Captain McClosky,' he said to the skipper, 'pray request all +hands to oblige me by going below.' + +The captain issued this order, which the yacht's crew rather reluctantly +obeyed. Their interest and curiosity were strongly excited by a scene +without precedent in the experience of the oldest mariner. + +When they had disappeared Mr. Macrae again addressed the invisible owner +of the voice. 'All my crew are below. Nobody is on deck but Captain +McClosky, the Earl of Bude, and myself. We are entirely unarmed. You +can see for yourself.' {406} + +The owner of the voice replied: 'You have no torpedoes?' + +'We have only the armament agreed upon by you to protect this immense +mass of bullion from the attacks of the unscrupulous,' said Mr. Macrae. +'I take heaven to witness that I am honourably observing every article of +our agreement, as _per_ yours of August 21.' + +'All right,' answered the voice. 'I dare say you are honest. But I may +as well tell you _this_, that while passing under your yacht we attached +two slabs of gun-cotton to her keel. The knob connected with them is +under my hand. We placed them where they are, not necessarily for +publication--explosion, I mean--but merely as a guarantee of good faith. +You understand?' + +'Perfectly,' said Mr. Macrae, 'though I regard your proceeding as a fresh +and unmerited insult.' + +'Merely a precaution usual in business,' said the voice. 'And now,' it +went on, 'for the main transaction. You will lower your gold into boats, +row it across, and land it here on my deck. When it is all there, _and_ +has been inspected by me, you will send one boat rowed by _two men only_, +into which Miss Macrae shall be placed and sent back to you. When that +has been done we shall part, I hope, on friendly terms and with mutual +respect.' + +'Captain McClosky,' said Mr. Macrae, 'will you kindly pipe all hands on +board to discharge cargo?' The captain obeyed. + +Mr. Macrae turned to Bude. 'This is a moment,' he said, 'which tries a +father's heart! Presently I must see Emmeline, hear her voice, clasp her +to my breast.' Bude mutely wrung the hand of the millionaire, and turned +away to conceal his emotion. Seldom, perhaps never, has a father +purchased back an only and beloved child at such a cost as Mr. Macrae was +now paying without a murmur. + +The boats of the _Flora Macdonald_ were lowered and manned, the winches +slowly swung each huge box of the precious metal aboard the boats. Mr. +Macrae entrusted the keys of the gold-chests to his officers. + +'Remember,' cried the voice from the submarine, 'we must have the gold on +board, inspected, and weighed, before we return Miss Macrae.' + +'Mean to the last,' whispered the millionaire to the earl; but aloud he +only said, 'Very well; I regret, for your own sake, your suspicious +character, but, in the circumstances, I have no choice.' + +To Bude he added: 'This is terrible! When he has secured the bullion he +may submerge his submarine and go off without returning my daughter.' + +This was so manifestly true that Bude could only shake his head and +mutter something about 'honour among thieves.' + +The crew got the gold on board the boats, and, after several journeys, +had the boxes piled on the deck of the submarine. + +When they had placed the boxes on board they again retired, and one of +the men of the submarine, who seemed to be in command, and wore a mask, +coolly weighed the glittering metal on the deck, returning each package, +after weighing and inspection, to its coffer. The process was long and +tedious; at length it was completed. + +Then at last the form of Miss Macrae, in an elegant and tasteful yachting +costume, appeared on the deck of the submarine. The boat's crew of the +_Flora Macdonald_ (to whom she was endeared) lifted their oars and +cheered. The masked pirate in command handed her into a boat of the +_Flora's_ with stately courtesy, placing in her hand a bouquet of the +rarest orchids. He then placed his hand on his heart, and bowed with a +grace remarkable in one of his trade. This man was no common desperado. + +The crew pulled off, and at that moment, to the horror of all who were on +the _Flora's_ deck, two slight jars again thrilled through her from stem +to stern. + +Mr. Macrae and Bude gazed on each other with ashen faces. What had +occurred? But still the boat's crew pulled gallantly towards the +_Flora_, and, in a few moments, Miss Macrae stepped on deck, and was in +her father's arms. It was a scene over which art cannot linger. Self- +restraint was thrown to the winds; the father and child acted as if no +eyes were regarding them. Miss Macrae sobbed convulsively, her sire was +shaken by long-pent emotion. Bude had averted his gaze, he looked +towards the submarine, on the deck of which the crew were busy, beginning +to lower the bullion into the interior. + +To Bude's extreme and speechless amazement, another periscope arose from +ocean at about fifty yards from the further side of the submarine! Bude +spoke no word; the father and daughter were absorbed in each other; the +crew had no eyes but for them. + +Presently, unmarked by the busy seamen of the hostile submarine, the +platform and look-out hood of _another_ submarine appeared. The new boat +seemed to be pointing directly for the middle of the hostile submarine +and at right angles to it. + +'_Hands up_!' pealed a voice from the second submarine. + +It was the voice of Merton! + +At the well-known sound Miss Macrae tore herself from her father's +embrace and hurried below. She deemed that a fond illusion of the senses +had beguiled her. + +Mr. Macrae looked wildly towards the two submarines. + +The masked captain of the hostile vessel, leaping up, shook his fist at +the _Flora Macdonald_ and yelled, 'Damn your foolish treachery, you money- +grubbing hunks! You _have_ a consort.' + +'I assure you that nobody is more surprised than myself,' cried Mr. +Macrae. + +'One minute more and you, your ship, and your crew will be sent to your +own place!' yelled the masked captain. + +He vanished below, doubtless to explode the mines under the _Flora_. + +Bude crossed himself; Mr. Macrae, folding his arms, stood calm and +defiant on his deck. One sailor (the cook) leaped overboard in terror, +the others hastily drew themselves up in a double line, to die like +Britons. + +A minute passed, a minute charged with terror. Mr. Macrae took out his +watch to mark the time. Another minute passed, and no explosion. + +The captain of the pirate vessel reappeared on her deck. He cast his +hands desperately abroad; his curses, happily, were unheard by Miss +Macrae, who was below. + +'Hands up!' again rang out the voice of Merton, adding, 'if you begin to +submerge your craft, if she stirs an inch, I send you skyward at least as +a preliminary measure. My diver has detached your mines from the keel of +the _Flora Macdonald_ and has cut the wires leading to them; my bow-tube +is pointing directly for you, if I press the switch the torpedo must go +home, and then heaven have mercy on your souls!' + +A crow of laughter arose from the yachtsmen of the _Flora Macdonald_, who +freely launched terms of maritime contempt at the crew of the pirate +submarine, with comments on the probable future of the souls to which +Merton had alluded. + +On his desk the masked captain stood silent. 'We have women on board!' +he answered Merton at last. + +'You may lower them in a collapsible boat, if you have one,' answered +Merton. 'But, on the faintest suspicion of treachery--the faintest +surmise, mark you, I switch on my torpedo.' + +'What are your terms?' asked the pirate captain. + +'The return of the bullion, that is all,' replied the voice of Merton. 'I +give you two minutes to decide.' + +Before a minute and a half had passed the masked captain had capitulated. +'I climb down,' he said. + +'The boats of the _Flora_ will come for it,' said Merton; 'your men will +help load it in the boats. Look sharp, and be civil, or I blow you out +of the water!' + +The pirates had no choice; rapidly, if sullenly, they effected the +transfer. + +When all was done, when the coffers had been hoisted aboard the _Flora +Macdonald_, Merton, for the first time, hailed the yacht. + +'Will you kindly send a boat round here for me, Mr. Macrae, if you do not +object to my joining you on the return voyage?' + +Mr. Macrae shouted a welcome, the yacht's crew cheered as only Britons +can. Mr. Macrae's piper struck up the march of the clan, '_A' the wild +McCraws are coming_!' + +'If any of you scoundrels shoot,' cried Merton to his enemies, 'up you +will all go. You shall stay here, after we depart, in front of that +torpedo, just as long as the skipper of my vessel pleases.' + +Meanwhile the boat of the _Flora_ approached the friendly submarine; +Merton stepped aboard, and soon was on the deck of the _Flora Macdonald_. + +Mr. Macrae welcomed him with all the joy of a father re-united to his +daughter, of a capitalist restored to his millions. + +Bude shook Merton's hand warmly, exclaiming, 'Well played, old boy!' + +Merton's eyes eagerly searched the deck for one beloved form. Mr. Macrae +drew him aside. 'Emmeline is below,' he whispered; 'you will find her in +the saloon.' Merton looked steadfastly at the millionaire, who smiled +with unmistakable meaning. The lover hurried down the companion, while +the _Flora_, which had rapidly got up steam, sped eastward. + +Merton entered the saloon, his heart beating as hard as when he had +sought his beloved among the bracken beneath the cliffs at Castle Skrae. +She rose at his entrance; their eyes met, Merton's dim with a supreme +doubt, Emmeline's frank and clear. A blush rose divinely over the white +rose of her face, her lips curved in the resistless AEginetan smile, and, +without a word spoken, the twain were in each other's arms. + +* * * * * * + +Half an hour later Mr. Macrae, heralding his arrival with a sonorous hem! +entered the saloon. Smiling, he embraced his daughter, who hid her head +on his ample shoulder, while with his right hand the father grasped that +of Merton. + +'My daughter is restored to me--and my son,' said the millionaire softly. + +There was silence. Mr. Macrae was the first to recover his +self-possession. 'Sit down, dear,' he said, gently disengaging Emmeline, +'and tell me all about it. Who were the wretches? I can forgive them +now.' + +Miss Macrae's eyes were bent on the carpet; she seemed reluctant to +speak. At last, in timid and faltering accents, she whispered, 'It was +the Van Huytens boy.' + +'Rudolph Van Huytens! I might have guessed it,' cried the millionaire. +'His motive is too plain! His wealth did not equal mine by several +millions. The ransom which he demanded, and but for Tom here' (he +indicated Merton) 'would now possess, exactly reversed our relative +positions. Carrying on his father's ambition, he would, but for Tom, +have held the world's record for opulence. The villain!' + +'You do not flatter _me_, father,' said Miss Macrae, 'and you are unjust +to Mr. Van Huytens. He had another, _he_ said a stronger, motive. Me!' +she murmured, blushing like a red rose, and adding, 'he really was rather +nice. The submarine was comfy; the yacht delightful. His sisters and +his aunt were very kind. But--' and the beautiful girl looked up archly +and shyly at Merton. + +'In fact if it had not been for Tom,' Mr. Macrae was exclaiming, when +Emmeline laid her lily hand on his lips, and again hid her burning +blushes on his shoulder. + +'So Rudolph had no chance?' asked Mr. Macrae gaily. + +'I used rather to like him, long ago--before--' murmured Emmeline. + +A thrill of happy pride passed through Merton. He also, he remembered of +old, had thought that he loved. But now he privately registered an oath +that he would never make any confessions as to the buried past (a course +which the chronicler earnestly recommends to young readers). + +'Now tell us all about your adventures, Emmie,' said Mr. Macrae, sitting +down and taking his daughter's hand in his own. + +The narrative may have been anticipated. After Blake was felled, Miss +Macrae, screaming and struggling, had been carried to the boat. The crew +had rapidly pulled round the cliff, the submarine had risen, to the +captive's horrified amazement, from the deep, she had been taken on +board, and, yet more to her surprise, had been welcomed by the Misses Van +Huytens and their aunt. The brother had always behaved with respect, +till, finding that his suit was hopeless, he had avoided her presence as +much as possible, and-- + +'Had gone for the dollars,' said Macrae. + +They had wandered from rocky desert isle to desert isle, in the +archipelago of the Hebrides, meeting at night with a swift attendant +yacht. Usually they had slept on shore under canvas; the corrugated iron +houses had been left behind at 'The Seven Hunters,' with the champagne, +to alleviate the anxiety of Mr. Macrae. Ample supplies of costume and +other necessaries for Miss Macrae had always been at hand. + +'They really did me very well,' she said, smiling, 'but I was miserable +about _you_,' and she embraced her father. + +'Only about _me_?' asked Mr. Macrae. + +'I did not know, I was not sure,' said Emmeline, crying a little, and +laughing rather hysterically. + +'You go and lie down, my dear,' said Mr. Macrae. 'Your maid is in your +cabin,' and thither he conducted the overwrought girl, Merton anxiously +following her with his eyes. + +'We are neglecting Lord Bude,' said Mr. Macrae. 'Come on deck, Tom, and +tell us how you managed that delightful surprise.' + +'Oh, pardon me, sir,' said Merton, 'I am under oath, I am solemnly bound +to Logan and others never to reveal the circumstances. It was necessary +to keep you uninformed, that you might honourably make your arrangement +to meet Mr. Van Huytens without being aware that you had a submarine +consort. Logan takes any dishonour on himself, and he wished to offer +Mr. Van Huytens--as that is his name--every satisfaction, but I dissuaded +him. His connection with the affair cannot be kept too secret. Though +Logan put me forward, you really owe all to _him_.' + +'But without _you_, I should never have had his aid,' said Mr. Macrae: +'Where _is_ Lord Fastcastle?' he asked. + +'In the friendly submarine,' said Merton. + +'Oh, I think I can guess!' said Mr. Macrae, smiling. 'I shall ask no +more questions. Let us join Lord Bude.' + +If the reader is curious as to how the rescue was managed, it is enough +to say that Logan was the cousin and intimate friend of Admiral +Chirnside, that the Admiral was commanding a fleet engaged in naval +manoeuvres around the North coast, that he had a flotilla of submarines, +and that the point of ocean where the pirates met the _Flora Macdonald_ +was not far west of the Orkneys. + +On deck Bude asked Merton how Logan (for he knew that Logan was the +guiding spirit) had guessed the secret of the submarine. + +'Do you remember,' said Merton, 'that when you came back from "The Seven +Hunters," you reported that the fishermen had a silly story of seeing a +dragon flying above the empty sea?' + +'I remember, _un dragon volant_,' said Bude. + +'And Logan asked you not to tell Mr. Macrae?' + +'Yes, but I don't understand.' + +'A dragon is the Scotch word for a kite--not the bird--a boy's kite. You +did not know; _I_ did not know, but Mr. Macrae would have known, being a +Scot, and Logan wanted to keep his plan dark, and the kite had let him +into the secret of the submarine.' + +'I still don't see how.' + +'Why the submarine must have been flying a kite, with a pendent wire, to +catch messages from Blake and the wireless machine at Castle Skrae. How +else could a kite--"a dragon," the sailor said--have been flying above +the empty sea?' + +'Logan is rather sharp,' said Bude. + +'But, Mr. Macrae,' asked Merton, 'how about the false Gianesi?' + +'Oh, when Gianesi came of course we settled _his_ business. We had him +tight, as a conspirator. He had been met, when expelled for misdeeds +from Gianesi's and Giambresi's, by a beautiful young man, to whom he sold +himself. He believed the beautiful young man to be the devil, but, of +course, it was our friend Blake. _He_, in turn, must have been purchased +by Van Huytens while he was lecturing in America as a poet-Fenian. In +fact, he really had a singular genius for electric engineering; he had +done very well at some German university. But he was a fellow of no +principle! We are well quit of a rogue. I turned his unlucky victim, +the false Gianesi, loose, with money enough for life to keep him honest +if he chooses. His pension stops if ever a word of the method of rescue +comes out. The same with my crew. They shall all be rich men, for their +station, _till_ the tale is whispered and reaches my ears. In that +case--all pensions stop. I think we can trust the crew of the friendly +submarine to keep their own counsel.' + +'Certainly!' said Merton. 'Wealth has its uses after all,' he thought in +his heart. + +* * * * * * + +Merton and Logan gave a farewell dinner in autumn to the Disentanglers--to +such of them as were still unmarried. In her napkin each lady of the +Society found a cheque on Coutts for 25,000_l_. signed with the magic +name Ronald Macrae. + +The millionaire had insisted on being allowed to perform this act of +munificence, the salvage for the recovered millions, he said. + +Miss Martin, after dinner, carried Mr. Macrae's health in a toast. In a +humorous speech she announced her own approaching nuptials, and intimated +that she had the permission of the other ladies present to make the same +general confession for all of them. + +'Like every novel of my own,' said Miss Martin, smiling, 'this enterprise +of the Disentanglers has a HAPPY ENDING.' + + + + +Footnotes: + + +{232} Part III. No. I, 1896. Baptist Mission Press. Calcutta, 1897. + +{242} See also Monsieur Henri Junod, in _Les Ba-Ronga_. Attinger, +Neuchatel, 1898. Unlike Mr. Skertchley, M. Junod has not himself seen +the creature. + +{406} Periscope not necessary with conning tower out of water. 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